


The Overseer

by skeletonprowler



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon-Typical Everything as this is largely a retelling of the story, Character Death, M/M, Masturbation, Mentions all assistants so I won't bother tagging them individually, Trans Character, background jonmartin, its MY fic I decide how the Lonely works, this all apparently got jossed to hell and back so its an AU, very light jonelias bc i am Uncomfortable with employee/boss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-02-23 07:49:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 78,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23208121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeletonprowler/pseuds/skeletonprowler
Summary: A rewrite of the series based on what I THOUGHT Elias was.Alternatively -Time passes. The Archivist and the Overseer orbit one another like planets.Working title was always 'Elias_eaten', so there's your theming. Or, some of it.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan Sims, Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
Comments: 29
Kudos: 55





	1. Elias Bouchard

**Author's Note:**

> comes back after a year to punt this into the tma tag & fucks off again  
> keep in mind this is written with the info given up to MAG133, so yes my speculations are all a year old. but like, please give it a try? i would like to know how my writing is  
> at that point I hadn't realized the Watcher was referring to Elias (I think??), and in any case that's not his role in this story, so he remains the Overseer.
> 
> MAG1 voice: that's probably enough time spent making excuses for the state of things, and I suppose we have to start somewhere.  
> Without further ado, here is:

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Act I.  
> In which Elias gets a job.

Elias Bouchard, after taking a gap year to do a lot of nothing, graduated from Oxford with a degree in Philosophy, Politics, and Economics.

Elias wouldn’t have considered himself “talented” or “ambitious” or “motivated”, but he did know how to roll a joint, so he figured he was halfway to a Philosophy degree. And after having a prophetic dream of finally starting his tie-dye shirt company, he finally let his parents pay for a spot in Christ Church. Five years later he crawled out of university with his degree.

With great reluctance, Elias began applying to any vaguely related position he came across. Some months later, high out of his mind, he couldn’t even recall what company his interview was for when he heard, “I think you’d fit in nicely here. You said you’re available to start now?”

Elias shook himself out of his stupor. The warm, carpeted meeting room had done nothing to sober him up from his morning smoke. Elias, peering at the woman across from him, had asked, “Really?”

“Really,” she confirmed. “You’ll be working as a filing clerk in the Old History section. It would be wise to read some of the material contained there, to be of more use to the researchers when they come to ask for resources.”

Elias let that advice roll smoothly off him. He came in to work at the Magnus Institute the next morning.

Months passed. First Elias did nothing. Then he filed. Then, when the glimpsed words on the files seemed interesting, he read. Boredom was a strong motivator, he discovered. So was reputation. Because after another few months, he developed an intuition of sorts. Because when Elias read a file, it was always useful.

“Elias, would you happen to know anything about… Oh, I don’t know, group frenzies or anything of the sort in the past? I just need a few more examples to support my essay.”

Elias lifted his eyes from his file on taxidermy to look at the young researcher prettily blushing at him. He had read an account of the 1518 Dancing Plague recently and had been wondering when the information would be useful. Not much to speculate about, he reasoned, as there wasn't, after all, an infinite amount of knowledge in the Magnus Institute. Some of it was bound to be valuable. He went to fetch the file.

* * *

Elias was hiding in the janitorial closet. The pressure was especially brutal. Usually Elias could ignore it or put it down to some never-before-experienced side-effect of weed, but the feeling of being watched persisted so strongly Elias had to back himself into a closet for the third time that day.

Someone had to be watching him. He had taken to watching his coworkers, to return the favour. It was probably someone he worked closely with. So Elias paid attention.

He saw that Laura visibly stilled whenever someone mentioned rock climbing. He noticed Grace casting glances at Riley. Nikolai leaned in when he mentioned the spiders in the archives.

He didn’t see anyone watching him when he was alone amidst the rows of books, when the feeling was strongest.

Elias decided to stop smoking. Just for a little while.

* * *

1975

“Elias! Over here!”

Rolling his eyes at the exaggerated waving, Elias waded through the sea of suits and sparkly dresses over to the group of research assistants standing off to the side of the marbled room. Not waiting for Elias’ slow gait, Nate detached himself from the group and slung an arm over Elias’ shoulder, eyes too bright and grinning into his ear.

“Glad you made it, buddy.”

Elias snorted. “I wouldn’t’ve come if I knew this is the type of reception I would get. Three seconds into the evening and already my only suit is crumpled to hell.” He smiled and tucked his friend’s shirt tag back under his suit jacket.

“If it wasn’t me, it would be somebody else,” laughed Nate, taking his arm off Elias’ shoulder. “I’m all empty, do you want a drink too?”

“Only if there is gold in it,” intoned Elias. “I simply won’t settle for anything less.”

Nate halted his departure to the drinks table, uncertainty flitting across his face. Elias let the silence stretch on for two more seconds, then – “I’m joking. Maybe a Greyhound?”

Nate laughed and shook his head. “Alright, rich kid.” He flashed Elias the middle finger and turned back to the drinks table.

Elias, smiling, turned back to the group. He was pleased to see Mary next to him, a nice girl who kept misplacing her files just, Elias suspected, so she could call on him to help. They chatted for a while about the frankly horrendous centerpiece of this hall, some kind of grotesque humanoid bulbous sculpture, until they were interrupted by Elias’ name being shouted at much too great a volume for this kind of event.

“Elias! They only have wine here!” Nate yelled across the hall, his face scrunched up in exaggerated disgust. Elias, mortified and not wanting to yell back, just waved for him to bring him a cup. He tried to ignore the prickling in his cheeks as he turned back to the group. He was just picking up the thread of their conversation when there was a cough behind him.

“You must be Mr. Bouchard?”

Noticing that Mary’s eyes had widened at the question, Elias turned to see a taller man in a very nice suit smiling pleasantly at him. Well, his mouth was smiling. Elias was very much being scrutinized.

“Yes, sir,” Elias answered, looking around. Finding no clue as to why he was approached by, according to Mary’s reaction, someone very important, Elias casted about for something to say. His eyes landed on the centerpiece.

“You wouldn’t be the person responsible for that sculpture, would you?”

The man’s eyes wrinkled a little more at their corners. “Yes, I had something to do with it.” Elias opened his mouth to say something else, but the man appeared to make up his mind.

“I have heard a lot about the good work you do, Mr. Bouchard,” he said. “Many an employee has mentioned that you’re exceptionally helpful. The head of the History archives is looking for a new assistant, and since I’ve been hearing your name a lot,” he glanced at Nate, having arrived back to the group bearing two wine glasses and a look of good-natured shame, “I thought I would come by to request you do an interview with us.”

Over the man’s shoulder, Mary was nodding fiercely at him. Elias tore his eyes back to the man. “I would love to.”

“Perfect. Well I won’t keep you, Mr. Bouchard. I’m sure we will see each other soon.” The man shook Elias’ hand and disappeared into the wall of suits.

Elias once again turned back to the group. Andres was really trying to keep the conversation going, but most of the group was staring at Elias. He felt his back stand a little straighter. Mary squeezed his arm and whispered her congratulations.

* * *

It was surprisingly easy.

He paid attention. Elias had previously thought he wasn’t able to learn the ten formulae needed for his statistics exam – now, he was storing names and agendas and relationships. He sometimes thought that may be, finally, what learning was – the literal expansion of mind, engulfing the people around him and storing them. His hoodies lay discarded in his closet. He moved up in the ranks. He surprised himself with how much he liked simply knowing.

He shrugged off the eyes on his back. No one else was rising this quickly within the institute, so it was natural that people were scrutinizing him. He scrutinized them back. He passed the time by picking them apart, finding that one childhood incident that made them stop when they became aware of their loud laughter. He found the phrases that would make them scowl or beam or shift uncomfortably. If he knew about their father’s illness, well, word travels fast around the institute. It didn’t matter that they hadn’t told anyone yet.

That wasn’t right. Of course it mattered, Elias told himself, frowning into the mirror. They’re people too. They deserved their privacy. What didn’t matter was how his observations were useful in conversations with powerful people. What didn’t matter was how well he was networking. The gaze on the back of his neck almost scorched him, but Elias resisted. Would he really sell out his colleagues just to gain a slight pay raise? He shook his head and splashed water on his face. In the gaps between the droplets, he saw the air behind him ripple in the mirror.

* * *

Knowing was like a draft caressing his face. Somewhere, a door opened, and Elias knew that Ben Tian was coughing up his lungs across the city. He would be sick tomorrow. Elias would have told himself that he had just noticed Ben eating lozenges by the dozen yesterday, but he hadn’t. So he didn’t. He only turned to his desk to start working on the presentation that would be shown next afternoon at the joint research proposal meeting. Ben was in charge of it, but if he wasn’t going to come in tomorrow, Elias could help avoid an uncomfortable situation for the committee and create the presentation himself. Distantly, in his periphery, a door closed.

He wasn’t going to get answers like this. He was no longer content with the mundane knowledge of office politics. If he wanted to truly Know, he’d need to set a trap.

Elias had hunted once.

His father had been rather ambivalent about it, but he had many acres of land and acquaintances who had liked it, so occasionally he would head out. He had taken Elias along with him once. Elias had no taste for big game, so when his father had run off with his friends after a deer, Elias had stayed behind. He had watched his father make simple traps and replicated them to the best of his ability. A rabbit had wandered into his trap and had escaped, wounded. Elias had followed it to its burrow. His father returned to a dozen dead rabbits and his son, waiting for him.

Let it not be said that the institute wasn’t gracious in its handouts. It certainly was. And Elias was very hesitant to show anything that could be interpreted as ill will towards the hand that fed him. But he was, after all, and academic. He wanted sources. He tried hard not to think of all the times he had stood in front of closed doors, hearing deep voices arguing over money. He hoped he didn’t seem like a spoiled child, grabbing at the one thing it wasn’t given. When the next offering was extended to him, Elias seized the draft, followed its surprised retreat, and found the door.

He had never seen it before. It was quickly closing. Without thought, Elias stuck his foot in the frame. Jumbled colours and streams coursed not a meter away from his eyes, and Elias was suddenly very glad for his narrow feet. On the other side of that door was pure information. He did not know what would happen if he wrenched the door open, but he was sure he wouldn’t be able to last.

A stripe of brown rose in the door’s frame. Elias traced it down in horror, recognizing the colour. The toe of his shoe had been resting just inside the frame and was now slowly unravelling into the kaleidoscope of ideas. The string resolved itself into a cow which cantered twice before being swallowed. Fascinated, Elias didn’t see the being until it threw open its door.

The impact sent him stumbling back. His brain caught up a second too late – no, don’t look! – as Elias lifted his gaze to the now open portal of infinite knowledge. He was not consumed. The thing did not let anything past it. It towered and collapsed to a single point, it mimicked his shape and a thousand others. Its black skin bulged, undulating when its eyes blinked. They stared in a thousand directions, and even though only two of them were fixed on Elias, he felt pinned. Judgement at the gates.

He stared at this being, this gatekeeper, and his mind was blank. He would never be a blank slate if he were to walk through that door.

“Will you let me pass?” Elias asked, and the trap slammed shut around him.

The thing’s movements stilled. The air sharpened, like a thousand daggers suspended around him. No, not the air – Elias wasn’t in the physical institute anymore. This medium was like agar, with data suspended for its bacteria. The pressure came from all sides, now. He didn’t look. He was surrounded by all the terrible information that could destroy him. That could be forced upon him.

It showed mercy. The thing looked – not fully, but with what, Elias estimated, was a third of its eyes – and let slip a fishing line of information. The thing shifted, then, an impact – Elias flew backwards and the door slammed shut.

Elias regained consciousness with the rough carpet digging into his rugburned cheek. He sat up and leaned on the nearest wall. His legs stretched out before him. His right shoe was missing its toe.

Three things were apparent – that thing could affect reality, and it had grinned at him as he had once grinned at the rabbit falling into his trap. Most importantly, Elias needed new dress shoes. As he stood, he also realized he knew how to tie a tie in four different ways now. He shrugged. If that was what was to be gained from serving this being, Elias decided he was alright with that.

Elias began to see it around the institute. Always watching, and mostly watching him. He felt its gaze harden as he passed the Research Director. Elias nodded to it and spun around to ask the director about his thoughts on a recently discovered Egyptian tomb. As he did so, its bulbous body faded into the wall.

* * *

1996

The two men considered each other across the desk. After two decades of climbing the corporate ladder, Elias had made it to the top. The Head of the Magnus Institute, James Wright, sat across from him, calculating. Elias remained impassive. The displeased set of the man’s mouth was telling enough; he had seen Elias coming. Elias knew he was no more powerful than he, but that the inexorable march of his ascension will culminate in Elias sitting behind that desk. Wright was smart. He would do nothing to stop it.

“It wants you, now.”

“I suppose it does.”

“Have you met the Overseer?”

Elias looked at the dark, shifting mass to his left, listening to the conversation. He bared his teeth. Overseer.

“Yes.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just think he's neat :)  
> alt summary: In which Elias fucks around and (kind of) finds out.


	2. Gertrude Robinson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Elias inherits an archivist.

1997

A brisk two raps sounded through the thick wooden door. Elias’ pen jumped, ruining the smooth arc of the eyelid.

She always managed to sneak up on him.

Elias scrambled to pull paper onto his desk, concealing the spreadsheets littered with doodles. He slid a blank travel expenses budget overtop the simplistic eyes and sat up straighter.

“Come in,” he said, smoothing out his shirt.

The door opened and the Head Archivist, Gertrude Robinson, stepped into his office. Elias had liked her, back when he was a filing clerk – on the two occasions they had met, Gertrude had been warm, kind. Had taken his suggestion to investigate the old English circus seriously. But now… Now Elias was wary of Gertrude. Wary of how she always seemed to be headed somewhere.

Gertrude strode to his desk and slid him a well-organized travel itinerary. It was certainly strange how Gertrude herself was organized, but the state of the archives left Elias in despair.

“Hello, Elias.” She cut right to the chase. “The number of disappearances off the savannah keep increasing. At this rate, every tour leaving for the Serengeti will disappear. It would be unwise, I think, to ignore them now. I would like some time off to travel to Tanzania and talk with those involved. We wouldn’t want…”

Gertrude trailed off, scrutinizing him. Elias tried to keep his face as neutral as he could under the knives of Gertrude’s pale eyes.

He wasn’t sure if Gertrude found what she was looking for when she continued. “We wouldn’t want this to keep happening.”

Elias hummed and leafed through the itinerary. All seemed to be in order.

“What’s this stop in Stockholm for? Five days is a very long time to wait for a connecting flight.” Elias didn’t bother looking up at Gertrude, as it was almost never useful. Gertrude kept her face as guarded as her secrets. Elias’ eyes widened, looking through the sheet. Secrets?

“One of the victims had survived his sojourn into the sky,” evenly replied Gertrude. “I am planning on speaking to him.”

“Very well. I have no doubt this will be approved.” Elias tore his eyes off the sheet and sat back in his chair, trying very hard to seem at ease. “I would, however, like to review the case sometime before you leave.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you, Elias,” Gertrude inclined her head, leaving his office as briskly as she came in.

Secrets. Yes, Elias was now quite certain Gertrude had her secrets. He shot a look at the Overseer, hanging near the door. It was watching him more intently than usual, the weight of its attention pressing Elias into his seat, into thinking more. The Overseer was remarkably secretive about the operation of the institute, and he would wager that it had not offered the certainty that Gertrude was hiding something to Elias. Elias, it seemed, had took it. The staring intensified.

Her meticulous nature was certainly at odds with her habits at work. Despite taking new statements and spending the hours down in the archives, the room never seemed to get any tidier. Elias would even say the majority of it had remained untouched under his supervision. And despite her long hours, she had a habit of disappearing, leaving her desk empty when Elias came to call. What was she doing down there? Elias didn’t actually have an answer.

“Well!” Elias stood abruptly, clapping his hands. The Overseer twitched, confused. Elias smiled at it. “There isn’t a lot to be done about that now. I’m off for lunch.”

As Elias left his office, he winked at it. If the Overseer was capable of doing anything human, he was sure it would have rolled its eyes.

* * *

Elias stepped into the archives and closed the door. He was reasonably certain he would not be interrupted as it was late afternoon and the assistants had taken to missing hours since Gertrude had left on her trip. Still, he walked down several aisles to make sure no one had stayed late.

He returned to Gertrude’s desk. The feeling of being watched still persisted, and although he could not see the Overseer, Elias doubted the eyes on him were human.

Gertude’s desk stood in the entrance to the archives, a bulwark against the rest of the institute. She had left the office in the back corner to the statement-givers ‘for privacy’. Elias doubted she didn’t have ulterior motives, but as this had been her arrangement for a decade at least, he didn’t press the subject. There were a lot of things he didn’t press with Gertrude.

Elias sat down in her chair and began to search through the piles of loose-leaf paper in her filing cabinet. She had, predictably, taken her in-progress files with her – Elias noted the absence of the dark blue folder permanently on her desk. As his fingers ran over the files, the post-it notes attached to them threatened to slip off. The staring was getting unbearable, but Elias refused to turn around to check if someone was there. Perhaps he was mistaken – her desk was not a defense against the institute, but a barrier against the archives.

Making a noise of impatience, Elias pulled a random file to read. He should have known her desk wouldn’t look any better than the rest of the archives. However, he was met with resistance as he lifted the file out of the cabinet. Looking closer, Elias noticed that the file he had chosen was taped together with several others. Lifting the pack of files, he read the note stuck on the first one. “Opening.” Intrigued, Elias flipped the cover. It was a copy of the recent disappearances in Tanzania. Elias frowned. Gertrude had not mentioned anything about an opening. Elias closed the drawer and exited the archives. He needed to get away from the eyes, and this seemed as good a place as any to start.

Back in his office, Elias finished the final account of the hungry sky and sat back in his chair, head swimming. These many cases, all including this concept of emptiness, vastness – they were all connected? And, more bizarrely, Gertrude was expecting some sort of culmination: The Opening. There were others, too – her notes referred to webs and strangers and eyes. The eyes were what concerned Elias the most.

His own eyes drifted across his office. They met another set. Then another. And another. Elias’ office was covered in eyes. They peered at him from every wooden whorl, every painted background, every illustrated spine. He had just thought his predecessor had a liking for the aesthetic, and Elias hadn’t minded them, but in light of this revelation… The old fear, hanging between the shelves of the history section rose up to engulf Elias in his office once again. Was something behind all those eyes? Was he beholden to some sort of god?

The existence of the Overseer had shaken him, but not like this. The vast entity he felt leaking from the words on his desk was different what the Overseer meant to him – the Overseer was a comrade in arms, a mentor, but this? This ran deeper. The sense of possession that pervaded the statements dug into Elias’ bones. Did he belong to the Eye?

Elias thought he should be screaming but his breathing was even, no blood rushing in his ears. He must have suspected, before. The Overseer was as much a servant as he. Elias waited for his reaction for several more minutes, but none came. He owed his life as it was currently to the Eye. Was he going to back out now?

He headed back to the archives to read more about his god.

* * *

2005

The years went by. Gertrude began coding her notes; Elias began looking over her shoulder. Gertrude began working in the tunnels; Elias discovered that the Magnus Institute had a labyrinth below it. Try as he might, Gertrude was always one step ahead. Elias was always playing catch up. Elias knew about the god he served now, and was grateful – in the meantime, Gertrude had stopped two other gods from claiming their reality. His institute. The thought of a foreign entity lording over this reality was disturbing – a threat Elias hadn’t even been aware of! The Overseer laughed at his frustration.

“Thank you, Rosie, that will be all.”

Rosie nodded and gently shut the door behind her. Elias, chin in his hands, stared after her. The institute was ending this year with some leftover money; it may be time to hire some new assistants for Gertrude. Her assistants had a nasty habit of… disappearing. Elias’ lips quirked at that. He had made the executive decision to allow Gertrude to do what she thought was best. But being able to see what she did across the world and not at his own institute grated on his nerves.

It was in this position, chin in his hands, thinking about budgeting, that Elias was, all at once, aware of _it._ It was hovering around the archives, and as Elias’ awareness raced down the hallways, he thought that it might be the Overseer. But that wasn’t right. He saw it now. It was taller and thinner. It hovered by Gertrude’s desk, considering her form, bent over a letter as it was, hawk-like. It was dark and twisting, its thousand eyes blinking and seeing everything at once, and it was hungry. It shifted slowly, sensing Elias watching, and blinked at him. Then it was gone.

Elias snapped back to his desk, the echo of a slammed door settling around him. The Overseer retracted its arm from his shoulder. Elias had been granted some information, but he didn’t want to leave it there. That thing was hungry, and Elias realized was hungry too. So, he took. On impulse he grabbed the Overseer’s hand and placed it to his eyes. Saw through it.

Elias saw rooms with manuscripts in languages he should not have known yet did. Saw two figures, working in tandem, illuminated by candlelight. The candlelight grew brighter, and he saw great libraries burning. One. Two. Three. A thousand knives pierced Elias as he watched the shelves of books curling and disintegrating. He saw the Archivist rising, ringed by fire, then falling to the ground, the library falling with him. Saw devastation. The Archivist carving off a piece of itself, a single eye falling to the ground. Ashes to ashes. Time passing. Archivist and Overseer, orbiting one another like planets. Like inevitability. And behind it all: one giant, staring eye, blocking out the sun.

Elias’ brain was on fire. He was dying, he was sure of it. His brain was frying under the torrent of information he had unleashed. But he would not stop looking. His vision clouded and his mind ripped under the weight of the world. He wouldn’t be able to see the end of this story.

The thought shot through his ecstasy like a razor. He couldn’t let that happen. He had to know. He had to save himself. Elias Bouchard closed his mind. And died.

At least, Elias felt like death when he regained consciousness on the floor of his office. But he did not see. Panicking, he brought his hands to his eyes. Agony exploded across his entire face. Where he had touched the Overseer, his skin was flayed and bloody. And still he could not see. He was being punished for his greediness. His god had forsaken him and he might never see again-

Elias cut off that train of thought. If he knew anything about business, it was that you invested in people. His god wouldn’t abandon him after that much progress. This was just another step on the ladder Elias had to climb. He tried to have faith and to even out his breathing. After what he estimated was half an hour, he figured he had it under control. He hesitantly sat up, and when the change in elevation didn’t aggravate the pain, he crawled on his hands and knees to the couch. He felt raw and vulnerable – a newborn. Hoisting himself up onto the couch, Elias curled into himself and stilled.

He had no way of keeping time. Only the pulsing in his skin kept him company. The silence swaddled him in a thick blanket. He could not hear. He could not see. Yet, he was more aware than he had ever been in his life. With every beat of his heart he could see the institute more clearly; a camera slowly turning into focus. He strained his physical eyes and was rewarded with a pulse of pain. He forcibly relaxed and tried again. Trying to remember that his physical body held nothing for him, he focused. And he watched.

Elias found his eyes in the painting of Jonah Magnus behind his desk. From its viewpoint he could see himself on the couch, as still as the rest of his office. His body tried to open its eyes and Elias saw that they were indistinguishable from the inflamed flesh around them – completely crimson. Elias closed them again and waited.

After the first several hours he could see his office fairly well. After a day, his whole floor. He saw Rosie emptying her suggestions box into the garbage. He watched with bemusement as one of the undergrads stuck a note on page 42 on every book in the languages section. He even huffed a laugh as a young assistant snuck ground cayenne pepper into his co-worker’s coffee. The institute thrummed with experiences being created every second, and Elias watched all of it. Nobody knocked on his door. He sent a silent thank you to the Eye.

Elias was watching a middle-aged woman chewing out the barista at the Caffe Nero on the corner when he noticed that Gertrude Robinson had received a letter. Elias switched his focus as he followed her on her descent back to the archives. He stood beside her as she closed the door. But as she opened the trap door and descended into the tunnels, Elias only caught a glimpse into the earth beneath. Then he could see no more. Elias sighed and opened his eyes. He dreaded what he would find in the mirror, but nevertheless he went to clean himself up. At least he knew now where Gertrude had been disappearing to.

* * *

2010

Elias had been improving at multitasking – he could now review a report without losing sight of any obvious abnormalities. Having just finished one, he followed the irritation in his mind to the archives, spotting the Archivist once again hanging around the shelves. Well - perhaps irritation was the wrong word. The sensation was most similar to a fly buzzing around his table– a quality to the environment around him that he could tune out in its consistency, but if focusing on it Elias could think of nothing else. The Archivist acknowledged his gaze with a slow blink (like a cat, Elias thought to himself) and returned its gaze to the new statements.

Elias frowned. The Archivist was avoiding Gertrude almost as much as Elias was. He glanced over his left shoulder, where the Overseer was weightlessly leaning on him. It was also watching the Archivist. It was strange. It seemed that, despite Gertrude’s employment of three decades, the Archivist had not gotten close to her at all. Maybe it was due to this behavior that Elias was so uneasy around her. He found himself thinking of Gertrude more and more as an enemy rather than a comrade. It felt like she just didn’t quite belong. Elias pushed down his growing apprehension. He didn’t notice when the Overseer started twitching.

* * *

2013

It was a warm, humid day in August, and the fresh air flowing sluggishly into Elias’ office did nothing to stop him from feeling like he might never move again. The sounds of the street below barely filtered up to his office and Elias found it hard to focus on the paperwork in front of him. That might have been why, when he suddenly felt a cold sweat overtake him, he welcomed the change. That might be why he wasn’t looking carefully at anything when the Overseer burst into his office, howling.

It whipped around the room, screaming like a wounded thing. Elias jumped as though electrified, so alarmed that he didn’t cast his gaze around his institute, didn’t think to look for a source of the pain. Elias only watched as the Overseer phased in and out of his office, clutching at its body, looking in all the world as if it was being ripped apart. It was in his office because it wanted him to do something to stop its agony, the white-hot razors ripping through its consciousness, but Elias didn’t know what to do, so distant was this creature from the collected and aloof Overseer he knew and depended on. Without warning the Overseer, in its madness, turned to Elias and descended upon him. His vision went white.

The pain exploded across his being. It was his, but more. Like something was eating his arms, gnawing and tearing the flesh from his bone, only Elias never before had so many limbs. He shrieked, trying to see which arm had been set upon by the beast. But there was only information everywhere he looked. It was a sunny morning in St John’s, Newfoundland, and a banker down the street was being fired. A woman in Minsk asked for rolls instead of her usual loaf of bread. The facts and connections were overwhelming. But not overwhelming enough.

The wrenching agony wasn’t coming from the Overseer. It was coming from the archives.

The thing that had been Elias followed the thread of torture in a whirlwind of agony, blowing through the empty hallways housing the ghosts of everyone who had ever walked there. It crashed against the hallway walls, a single mantra repeating in its mind - Make it stop. Make it stop. It hauled open the archive door and half fell, half flew through.

The Archivist was screaming. A thing made of eyes wasn’t supposed to scream, but its contorted face was the first thing the Overseer saw. It bulged wildly. Its dark flesh, speckled with rolling eyes, stretched from Gertrude’s desk, then snapped back to the chair it was sat it. It was all wrong - the Archivist didn’t _sit._ Its body heaved and shrank and rolled as it desperately tried to find a way to escape, tried to find a hole to slip through, but could not. It could only scream through the black threads holding it in place around Gertrude Robinson’s body. Trapped.

This was too much for the Overseer. It snapped its own connections and fled to some far place, leaving Elias limp, clinging to the archive door to keep himself from falling completely. The terrible image of the Archivist’s trapped form faded, replaced by Gertrude’s surprised face. Elias must have made quite a spectacle to raise that kind of reaction from her; her normally neutral expression was twisted with surprise and, Elias was sure, glee. She said something to him, but Elias was still wracked with phantom pain. He was unable to process what she said, what had – what was still happening. The Archivist’s screams still rang in his ears.

It was the book. That damn book that Keay had given her. Its pages were covering all surfaces around her, and Elias saw that her arm was covered in fresh blood. She had – Elias balked, tried to swallow down the rising bile. She had bound the Archivist to her. Bound it in writing and blood, had stapled it to her. It was right, it had been right all along, never trusting her, but Elias had done nothing. Was complacent. And now it was too late. Gertude had tired of waiting. She had taken what was rightfully hers by force.

Gertrude was still watching him, her expression composed but tinged with amusement. She knew what she had done; she was enjoying her victory. Finally, something to bring the Eye down a notch. To Elias, it felt like the world had ended. She had taken the Archivist and Elias could do nothing. In the end, it was the thought that he must be making all of this that much more enjoyable to her that made him get up from his knees and stagger out of the archives. Elias collapsed on his couch and shuttered his mind. Heaving sobs crawled out of him - his was the body that could reject Gertrude’s actions. He had lost a war he hadn’t even been aware of.

* * *

It was some weeks before the Overseer returned. Elias drifted, unmoored without the constant presence of the Overseer with him. He tried to avoid everyone as much as possible, but despite everything he was still the head of the institute, and as such had little opportunity to do so. He even saw Gertrude. He tried to remain professional, but caught himself flinching in her presence, as even in his numbed state he could hear the cries of the Archivist Gertrude dragged around with her like a dying dog on a leash. Gertrude was likewise professional, but smug, always regarding Elias with an air of superiority. Like a gladiator with her sword at his throat.

It wasn’t much better when the Overseer returned. Elias’ access to knowledge had diminished during its absence, and he couldn’t help but feel that he was deliberately being kept in the dark. When the Overseer appeared in his office, cautiously circling Elias, he noticed that it seemed bigger. Had more weight to it. He wondered if, wherever it had gone, their god had fortified it.

Elias had to admit that it was nice to have someone to lean on again, even if it was painful to be around. Well, the Overseer wasn’t painful to be around, to be exact; it was simply easier to feel the Archivist’s agony when the Overseer was near. The raw wounds had not healed but seemed to be less painful now – it was a low, throbbing pain Gertrude didn’t seem to feel. Perhaps the impersonal nature of their binding shielded her. Elias cursed Gertrude and that book, cursed his own blindness and all he let happen, but it did no good.

The Overseer seemed to feel the same way about Elias, sticking closer to him now than it had ever before. Elias, despite trying not to, felt some pride in that fact, along with a protectiveness he never knew himself to exhibit before. He got accustomed to the low hum of hurt that accompanied its presence.

At least, Elias thought he was accustomed to the events and the hurt they had brought with them. The summer had turned into autumn, and Elias’ despair had dampened with the weather. Elias, of course, had went through all information he had access to in order to find something – anything - he could use to sever the connection Gertrude had forced. He had found nothing. His god felt distant, and with the Overseer’s return, Elias felt no sense of agency. They would just have to deal with the situation until… until they didn’t have to anymore.

As Elias was relaying what information he had to the Overseer, it paced his office, undulating to roll across his floor. When Elias finished, it turned to him, and very deliberately began to move towards him. Elias backed up. For the first time that month he felt something other than calm despair – he felt afraid. But he would not run from his companion. It stalked forward until it was right in front of him, Elias’ forehead nearly resting on its chest. Then, as Elias inclined his head to do so, it stepped forward again, _entering_ Elias and settling somewhere behind his eyes.

The screaming sent Elias to the ground, the exact same screaming he heard during that awful summer day. Elias covered his ears with his hands, but it did nothing, for the screaming was not a sound – the agony trembled through the air into his mind, the knowledge of its intensity overwhelming. Elias could see the Archivist, struggling less against the bonds but still in the same pain. It was across the world in America, but there was no place on earth where the two weren’t standing as beside each other. Elias curled up on the office floor and waited for it to abate, as helpless as the Archivist.

Elias estimated that several excruciating hours had passed, as when the Overseer stepped out of his body Elias found the tear tracks on his face were long dry. Curled up on the office floor, staring at the Overseer and the Overseer staring back, Elias took its meaning. The message was clear.

Do something.

* * *

2014

Elias was so sick and tired of everything about those damn archives. Similar to the family he once had, the archives knew exactly what to say and where to prod to get Elias completely out of his skull. It wasn’t the archives of course, but he didn’t want to think about her. With some twisted logic he had come to the conclusion that to think of her was to feed her some sort of power and he. wouldn’t. do that. She would be getting nothing from him.

She _was_ getting nothing from him. He made sure that her trips weren’t approved and her assistants weren’t replaced and even her damn _staples_ weren’t restocked. She still, somehow, functioned as normal. Still put in her notice of absence a month in advance to go on unfunded trips to talk to people Elias didn’t know. Even managed to stop another ritual, producing some poor idiot to throw into one pit or another. She even kept stapling her files together. Elias was about as effectual as a stick on the tracks to halt the approach of a locomotive.

She had help. He knew she had help but could not figure out for the life of him what it was. She had stopped recording statements so Elias couldn’t listen and she removed any electronics he placed in the archives, no matter how well he hid them. The idea of her following the hopeful glance of the Archivist and ripping apart the only source of information it got – the thought rotted Elias to his bone. What limited sight he had just at the virtue of her working at the institute was neatly clipped in precisely placed slots of time, and Elias had no idea what she was doing in between.

He heard again the screams of the tortured Archivist and panic rose again in his neck. The blindness. Not again. He wouldn’t allow it. The Overseer was almost constantly behind his eyes, allowing him rare moments of peace before stepping inside him and making him hear the cries once more. But he couldn’t act. He was penned in from all sides by her plans. Elias had thought about running. Taking off and never returning to the institute. He couldn’t shake the conviction that, if he did, he would be dead within the week. If he couldn’t handle his own employees, he wouldn’t be able to last a minute with something that was actually trying to kill him. And he was sure the institute had made its share of enemies during Gertrude’s employment.

So he was reduced to pacing his office like a tiger in a cage. Or like a city under siege, gnawing on its bones.

* * *

Fall 2014

A whisper.

Elias was in a general meeting for the research department. He had never heard that voice before, but he recognized it. If it was real, it would have crawled from cracked lips and a raw throat. The thing at the other end of the words was weak. It hadn’t been fed in years but somehow its emaciated form had wormed a sliver through Gertrude’s wrappings. Help me, it said. It named Elias in his own terms. Help me. It’s soon.

Elias tried to follow its scent back to the gap in the bindings to send back some reassurance, some sort of word, but found the gap had already closed. He dodged away to avoid Gertrude’s radar, a deep sadness clutching him. It was starving to death, but it still had gathered enough energy to call him by name. He turned inward to ask the Overseer if it had heard the warning, but the Overseer was absent. The Archivist had warned him alone. Elias could only wait.

The whisper was louder next time.

Elias was alone in his office, rereading his collection of files on the Stranger when the voice spoke again. Elias heard it more clearly – when it spoke it shifted between the voices of everyone he had cared for. Elias admitted it was a clever trick. It certainly made him pay attention as his mother said that it would happen soon. His teacher said that Gertrude knew the Eye was strong enough to try its ritual. The first man he had kissed whispered that Gertrude would burn this place to the ground with Elias in it. Their god would be razed.

It faded quickly and Elias was left with his thoughts. He felt unbalanced, water in one ear. Where there would usually be a vein pumping knowledge into his mind there was nothing. The absence of the Overseer meant that only he had heard its warning; the knowledge was his alone. Confusion laced his blood. Why had the Archivist reached out solely to him? Elias racked his brain but could not think of any reason to keep this from the Overseer. But it was clear the Archivist thought there was.

He made up his mind. There must be a reason the Archivist was hiding Gertrude’s plans from everyone except Elias. Elias would obey the Archivist as he did the Overseer. Which is to say, he would be led down its path as well.

Aware of the increasing likeliness of the Overseer returning to him as the time passed, Elias pressed himself to learn to conceal this new-given information. If the Overseer walked the realm of fact and connection Elias saw as a pulse underneath the physical world, he was sure he could find somewhere he could hide Gertrude’s plan away. If he did not hide it, the Overseer would settle back behind his eyes and it would know his thoughts once again.

He cast around to see where he could hide it. Elias had only ever tapped into the veins of information – he had completely ignored the places in between. To his dismay, he found little, and the places he did find were obvious – one logical step removed from any data. The Overseer walked that plane and would see his bloody tissue sat in the open at once.

But it did not go to others. As far as he knew, the Overseer only ever settled into Elias – his employees weren’t subject to the same scrutiny. He skimmed the institute and found Rosie a floor down, photocopying timesheets. If he could somehow hide away in her head, the secret would be safe. He examined Rosie, looking for anything he could identify as a consciousness. Rosie almost immediately began looking over her shoulder. Elias was surprised at the amount of photocopying Rosie had to do, since in the time before he could start to sense the edges of what he would call Rosie she stayed at the printer. Her consciousness was spiky under the weight of his scrutiny – it would shoot out in random directions and at odd intervals, always followed by her nervous glance.

As with everything, this was to be part of a multi-step process. Before he could hide, Elias needed to control his gaze. He had no skills in this area, and in her current state it would be hard to sneak past her defenses. He left Rosie alone with her mountain of paper for now and searched the institute for someone else.

As he did so, he observed a pattern. When his gaze landed on someone, their consciousness turned pointed and they wielded it like a lance as they scanned their surroundings for whoever was examining them. Then, finding no one, they would retreat back into themselves. If Elias kept looking, their mind would start to spike randomly, causing them to look up and check the corresponding direction. It was quite fascinating.

But Elias had limited time. He should come back to this later, but for now he reasoned that he was most interested in the moment their mind receded, leaving behind the wet sand of the beach. If he could somehow slip in some information and have their mind take it back with them, a shell to the sea…

He found Rosie again, this time back behind her desk. She had calmed down and wasn’t looking around anymore. Instead she was stirring a cup of decaffeinated black tea, probably having decided that she was just jumpy from the impressive amount of coffee she drank. Rosie was always a down-to-earth person, one of the many reasons Elias appreciated her.

Elias decided to start off with something small. Simply having a time constraint didn’t mean he could be sloppy about his work. Something his colleagues wouldn’t understand – he was getting distracted. He allowed his eyes to drift as he thought of a suitable fact to hide in Rosie. He needed to be able to ask her about it.

He finally settled on his memory of hunting. Rosie’s mind pulsed, amoeba-like, as Elias nudged the green grass of the British countryside towards her. The smell of blood. The thread stuck to her mind and it was pulled inward, Rosie’s face thoughtful. The thread began to be pulled from Elias faster. He no longer remembered how the rabbit skins had felt under his hands.

Elias panicked, losing his grip on the string. His memory was receding with it, becoming fainter – he was transferring his knowledge to her! In his panic he wrenched the string away and was left holding a ragged edge. He had no idea how the memory started anymore. He frantically searched his memory, and then opened the vault to search – there. The information was sound, untouched. Rosie seemed not to have noticed anything. He had only cloned the memory in her mind: nothing was hidden. If he tried this trick, the Eye would know of the Archivist’s warning.

“Damn.” Elias cursed, gripping his pen. He really should have known the Eye wouldn’t let its precious facts be taken from it. The information proliferated through minds.

Only one option remained. One Elias did not like and did not think would work. The thought of concealing information from his companion was repugnant. But the other option was to abandon the Archivist and its machinations, and Elias didn’t dare to presume its intentions – telling their god was paramount to opposing the Archivist. If he helped the Archivist first, then told the Eye, everyone would be satisfied. He hoped.

It took longer to find the shape of his mind, leeching as it was from the veins of the institute. He was almost surprised to see that the strongest connection was to the archives, avoiding them as he was. It was the thickest and shortest of his veins, cutting through the floor directly to Gertrude’s desk.

His other taps weren’t as strong – some for various meeting rooms in the institute, a waning connection to the supermarket down the street (specifically the croissants table), some for his favourite jewellery stores. He even, apparently, kept a close eye on the camera outside Gertrude’s apartment. Fascinating.

As Elias was examining his mind, he grew aware of the wisps that would rise from his head occasionally. It wasn’t a stream of information – it only happened once while he was looking. It was a scene from earlier in the day. Elias had been talking to the head of Artefact Storage. The man had mentioned several new acquisitions but had lamented that they had less people to test them than ever before. He had asked Elias if he had any ideas on how to keep his employees. The wisp, trailing upwards out of Elias’ mind, contained his swimming face.

Elias couldn’t guess the significance of that conversation, but one thing was clear. Any new information in his head could be examined at any moment. Elias decided then to refer to his information as the shipment. An extra layer of security wouldn’t hurt. The shipment may not be new information at all, since the Archivist had been screaming for almost two years now. But Elias didn’t think that was the case.

The veins continued to pump into him. Now that Elias was thinking about it, he wasn’t sure when the flow of information had ever been reversed – when had he earned new data to give to his god? The wisps that escaped him may be the only use Elias had. That and his impressive form filling abilities. Collecting data was simply not his job.

This fact emboldened Elias. If the vessel was always empty, no one would look into it. He huffed a laugh. Cycles – this was university all over again. If there were no expectations, he would not be noticed. He just had to not draw attention to it. Conveniently, he already had a lot of experience repressing his thoughts.

He spent the rest of the afternoon markedly not thinking about the shipment. When his mind started to wander, he trained himself to layer a fresh coat of paint on it. It was high school all over again. Except he was past trying to convince himself the girl sitting beside him was attractive, so instead he recited the new arrivals at Artefact Storage. By the end of the day, he felt like he had a good shot at concealing it.

The Overseer had never made a habit of syncing with Elias when they were together – it stepped into his skin and stared at the world through his eyes, the experiences they shared began and ended with its presence. Elias didn’t know what it did on its own, and he wasn’t about to dig, certain that it would respond in kind. The Overseer didn’t usually ask how his day had been.

He was right. The Overseer returned, taking up Elias’ life exactly as it entered. He wasn’t supposed to have agency, so he didn’t.

* * *

February 2015

Elias couldn’t escape the voice. He could feel the Overseer tiring of the meeting they were in but Elias clung to it, talked to it like he would a skittish animal, please don’t go, look at this, isn’t it interesting that Jones was looking at Clark so much? The Overseer glanced at them but still made to leave. Elias held on. Where are you going you should stay I haven’t seen you in a long time. The Overseer detangled itself from him and stepped out of the room, sparing him no second glance.

Elias heard the whisper as soon as its brother stepped over the horizon. He cleared his mind reflexively – as long as he took without resistance, it wouldn’t raise any suspicion. He couldn’t stop it, could only clear a path through the dejection in his head, brushing it to the sides like pencil shavings. The Archivist whispered only to him.

It said the same things. Elias, Gertrude will burn us, it said. She will burn you and the place we are in and maybe even herself. The boxes will start to burn and then we will. We are bound and I cannot do anything. She does not feed me and she hates you. Most of all she hates our master and others like it. She will do what she has done to us. I’ll die, Elias. You’ll die, Elias. Elias. Elias. Elias. Elias.

Elias put his hands over his ears. A child again. Looking up from its toys to be faced with a choice it didn’t understand. Anger. Cursed Gertrude again and again and again and again. Why him why Elias why Elias Elias Elias Elias Elias.

He was a wreck. Jumping at the slightest sound. Gertrude was gone. But she will come back. She had to come back to end this. And he could still hear the voice. Elias counted time by his name. No one came to him. The meeting had ended long ago and Elias had no memory, no space in his head besides the dry whisper chanting his name for help. Almost a prayer.

Elias paced the halls of the institute. He couldn’t escape and he couldn’t act. Surely his god would tell him to act if its institute was in danger? His head was swimming, Gertrude’s face morphing into the Archivist. Surely his god would tell him to act if Gertrude was in danger? Was Gertrude danger? Was she the institute? Was she Elias? The Archivist the danger to Gertrude? Elias acts and endangers the Archivist? Elias shakes his head. Would it be a mercy?

Elias’ feet were sore when the whisper turned into a yell.

**NOW YOU HAVE TO ACT NOW SHE’S BURNING US NOW ELIAS NOW**

Elias was sprinting down the hall even before he heard it. The hallways were empty. He followed the Archivist like a bull seeing red. Down the stairs through the door into the archives past the boxes concealing petrol. There was a gun leaning against the desk, Slaughter-touched and sharp in his palms. The trapdoor was open and Elias jumped through it, landing badly on his ankle. He heard the distant rumble of rage building and bearing down on him in pursuit. Still he flew through the tunnels, ankle not hurting. He must have not been breathing as no one can scream for that long without breath. The white ringing in his ears mixed with

**ELIAS PANIC FEAR DO SOMETHING END THIS OR KILL HER OR KILL ME OR**

Elias burst into Gertrude’s workplace. Her important recordings, things Elias wasn’t able to hear before, clamoured in his ears. She looked up from the lighter in her hands. She almost smiled at his appearance. Another wound.

Her words were drowned by the Archivist’s wailing.

“Elias, dea-” Elias unloaded a shot into her heart. The wooden chair rocked back, then made a hollow thump as the two front legs connected with the floor again. The Archivist screamed in pain, and Elias knew he was killing it. Just as he was killing Gertrude.

Elias finally saw fear turn her eyes glassy. Still Gertrude tried to use her lungs as they leaked out through her chest. “Elia-”

Elias pulled the trigger again, the recoil wrenching his shoulder away. The chair again rocked back. The gunshots had deafened him, yet he could hear the tearing of the bonds as the Archivist tried to free itself from the woman dying on the chair. Gertrude was just trying to breathe, arms hanging limp at her sides, lighter long since dropped to the floor.

She did not say the last “El-” but he shot her again just the same. The impact pitched her limp body forward, and Elias, unthinking, stepped forward to put his shoe against her chest, propping her back up. Her blood dripped steadily down onto the floor. Her mouth gaped open and he could see lung through her ruined chest, though he had no idea what lung looked like. In death her power was stripped. She was just an old lady, dead on a chair.

The rage was in the tunnels, now. They had never come down here before but now that Elias had, the dam was broken. Elias didn’t turn to the face the Overseer as it rushed into the room in its howling fury. He stood in front of Gertrude as the Overseer bent the ribs off his spine and kicked inside him. Penance. Elias had never felt flesh and bone until the Overseer made sure he did. His back parted like soil for a spade. The Overseer threaded its tendrils into him, eating his muscles, immobilizing him. Elias had killed its Archivist and Elias will never act again.

The Overseer climbed into him, vertebrae by vertebrae, pulling itself through his being with ice picks. His thoughts crumbled like glaciers. They howled when they saw how the Archivist had called to Elias. The grief - trapped between life and purpose, the Archivist chose to live, and sentenced Gertrude to death at the hands of the only thing capable of being fallible. Being human. Elias was human. The Archivist sentenced Elias to death. Elias killed the Archivist. The Overseer cried as it killed him.

He screamed as his bones stretched within him, trying to accommodate the extra body. The tendons holding his muscles were pulled from bone, replaced with dark, oily chicken skin. Elias fell not like a monument but like the rain. His dying body sprawled on its back in the tunnels. His vision turned white as the Overseer worked itself behind his eyeballs.

It was not the Overseer’s doing. The brickwork above Elias’ prone form was being lifted, stone by stone. The terrible morning light touched him, and was banished by one single, staring eye.

Act no more, it intoned to the dying mass, and you will be cast from your throne and consumed.

The Overseer ranted at the eye, gibbered, did it not see that this worm had killed its brother-

The eye surged forward in anger, and the Overseer froze. There, in its centre, was the unmistakeable shape of the Archivist. Its emaciated body was cradled in the dark pupil. The Overseer stopped dying and killing, staring at its other half. Not dead. Freed.

A moment later the eye was gone. The ceiling was back in place. A man lay dead, his nerves on fire. A woman sat dead, her quarry torn free.

In the dark of the tunnels, the Overseer pretended it was cradled by Elias’ cold flesh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just think its SO funny that Elias basically inherited Gertrude in a reverse scary grandma maneuver  
>   
> send me tofu recipes @laymanterms.tumblr.com


	3. Jonathan Sims

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Elias finds a replacement.

The quality to the world had shifted, and the thing that was not Elias anymore had shifted with it.

When the Overseer had stepped into his body, he had died and been replaced with an amalgamation of their two worlds. The flow of new experiences had, at first, left stars behind his eyes, but he had quickly grown accustomed to the overlap. Elias skimmed the veins pumping through the institute and found the one containing the information from this morning’s meeting. He sent a follow-up email to the head librarian.

He had, before, amused himself in unravelling others’ characters. Understanding them then moving on. Now, all information was presented to him on a silver platter and it was remarkably easy to see the rules which governed men. It was remarkably easy to see the shapes of their minds, to force truths into them. Elias busied himself in work.

Perhaps it was the dent that made Elias pay attention to the man.

The Overseer was accustomed to being the only bridge between the physical world and the institute’s knowledge, besides the Archivist. But the Archivist was absent, and the dent persisted.

The first time Elias had noticed it, he had passed it off as a fluke. The second time it happened, again on the floor below him, the Overseer jabbed at him. Maybe we should pay attention. Elias was attending a frankly very poorly put together presentation on a proposed collaboration with some university or other and allowed himself the time to examine the space where the dent was. Finding nothing dangerous there besides perhaps the unhealthy-looking pallor of a man hunched over some papers, Elias returned to the meeting.

Perhaps it was the figure that reminded him so of the absent Archivist.

Elias was on his way to a budgeting committee meeting, leafing through his papers and walking briskly through the halls of the institute. He was walking faster than he normally would to reduce the amount of time he would have to listen to the shrill voice of the man hurrying to keep pace beside him. Elias made a habit of interacting with the stingy men sitting on the committee as little as possible, but this one seemed determined, dipping behind Elias to let employees pass in the narrow hallway, then catching up with him once again.

It was just when the man slowed to let another person past him that Elias felt his heart twinge in recognition. In his periphery, the hawkish figure of the Archivist was facing him. When Elias whipped his head around, though, there was nothing of the sort. Elias’ heart ached with disappointment, but the retreating back of the man who had just passed Elias still seemed familiar. Something about how his gaunt figure combined with his ashy skin, looking as though it hadn’t seen sunlight in years…

Elias kept his eyes on the man. The figure’s head turned to look behind him just as Elias rounded the corner, likely feeling as though he was being watched.

Of course, Elias knew it wasn’t any of those things. He was led, inexorably, to his god’s emissary.

Elias took time out of his day to pass through the hallways he knew the man frequented. He could have just as easily looked from his office, but something made Elias seek him out physically. He was rewarded with the scent of old paper and cheap deodorant as he passed the man. Every time Elias scrutinized him he found nothing unusual or special in his crooked nose and frankly skeletal frame. In fact, Elias mused, this man must be trying to be as invisible as possible, wearing neutral colours and sweaters with no discernible cut. Each time Elias passed him in the halls, however, he would almost immediately lift his head sharply from the papers he was perpetually reading and start to look around. He supposed it was good that the replacement archivist was already so attuned to his surroundings.

Or maybe just paranoid.

Elias did what research he could on the man. His name was Jonathan Sims, currently employed as a researcher in the Contemporary History section. He had no experience in information management, no friends or family. He was also, bizarrely, already marked by the Web, and Elias almost asked his god about it before he sensed that was a bit of a sore spot for it. His research was superficial though. He sensed that the choice had been already made. He finally understood the gravity Wright had felt when Elias had stepped into his office. Elias called Sims in for an interview a month after Gertrude’s ‘disappearance’.

“Just Jon is, fine,” Sims said after Elias had called him into his office. He sat nervously on the edge of the chair, and his eyes did not rest for the entirety of their interview, instead scanning the surroundings. He looked everywhere but at Elias. In every sense, he was the complete opposite of Gertrude Robinson. Elias wasn’t about to ignore his god’s guidance, but he prophesized the man would have a complete breakdown within the first year.

After Elias had mentioned Gertrude’s disappearance and finished explaining the state of the archives, he offered Sims the job. Elias almost laughed at how quickly the man answered yes, he could start right away. No proper experience and a disaster to organize, and yet he, apparently, wanted to tackle the archives. Interesting.

“You may want to take some assistants with you to help you in the archives. The place is a mess, and you’ll need the help in any further research you may wish to do,” Elias advised as Sims made a show of preparing to leave.

“That’s… probably a good idea,” said Sims. He stopped fidgeting with his shirt when he was thinking. “Let me see… I’ll ask Tim Stoker and Sasha James. They’ve been very helpful in digging up information for me in the past, so…” he looked a little to the right of Elias for confirmation.

Elias nodded, then said, “Perhaps you can take Mr. Blackwood on board as well? I would feel better if you had at least three people helping you.”

Elias had interviewed Blackwood some years before and remembered him as a desperate young man with no family that would miss him. He hadn’t even graduated – there was so little information pertaining to his existence that he would be very easily forgotten. From the record Gertrude had set, replaceable assistants were something that Sims would probably find himself needing sooner rather than later. If he had the stomach for it.

Sims’ mouth had turned into a scowl of poorly concealed disgust. “Martin Blackwood? I rather think that he’d be more of a hinderance than anything.”

Elias raised one eyebrow. It seemed Sims could barely handle the concept of working with a group.

Sims paled. “W-well if you think it's best, then yes, I will ask him,” he backpedaled. “It does sound, from your descriptions, that I will need all the help I can get. Yes. I’ll ask him.”

“Quite. Well, Jon, it’s a pleasure to have you,” Elias said, standing. He extended his hand across the desk and Sims took it, long fingers briefly gripping his before letting go.

“You can report in tomorrow morning at nine and I’ll have Rosie show you around the archives. Set up your desk, anything else you might need. If anything comes up, you know where to find me,” Elias finished, sitting back down and already reaching for another stack of paperwork.

Sims stood at his chair for a moment, then mumbled a “Right. Uh, thank you,” and left. Elias followed him down the hallway until he saw a small smile form on his mouth, then turned his attention back to the letter in front of him.

When he had finished writing, he sealed it in an official Magnus Institute envelope bearing the Pu Songling Research Centre’s address on the back. He wouldn’t be needing their candidate for the archivist position.

* * *

MAG 4.

The knock at his door came just as Elias was finishing his conversation with the event organizer.

“Come in,” Elias said, turning the phone into the crook of his neck. Jon hesitantly opened the door.

“One minute.” Elias motioned to the chair across from him and turned back to the call, not cutting the organizer off as she went on a tangent about seating capacities. Jon sat down in the chair, clearly feeling awkward as Elias listened, purposefully dragging out the conversation. When he thought the point had been made, he excused himself from the call and hung up the receiver. He didn’t want Jon to get the impression he could just waltz into his office at any time. Workplace boundaries and all that.

“What can I help you with?” Elias asked, turning to face Jon. He had only started his position several days ago, so there were bound to be questions about his work.

Instead, Jon asked, rather accusingly, “Did you know about the Leitners?”

“What of them?” replied Elias, assessing him. The wildness behind his eyes betrayed his overwhelmed state. “I know we have several in storage; if you’re interested in seeing them, I believe you should have access--”

“No,” interrupted Jon, “those are fine. They’re contained. But I just read a statement about a Lietner, dated three years ago. Ex Altiora. There are no records, notes, or any information about it at all in our system. I am, concerned, as the effects it had on the statement-giver were pretty severe. I came in to make sure you were aware that, apparently, not all Lietners were destroyed in the burning, and to suggest more effort be put into locating the ones that had survived.”

Elias was holding back a smile. Barely a week into the job and already he was making demands. It was… refreshing. Rubbing shoulders with the other slimy bureaucrats who wouldn’t say a straight sentence with a gun pointed at them got tiresome very fast. Hearing Jon brusquely telling him how to do his job was a welcome change of pace.

“I had guessed as much. It would have rather been a surprise if all Lietners had been destroyed, given our luck,” Elias replied, deliberately mirroring Jon’s use of the phrase in his concluding notes not an hour before. Elias was gratified to see Jon’s mouth lift a little at the corner at that. “But yes, in the future please do report any new information you find about potential surviving volumes. We’ll try to locate them then. They are an immediate threat, as you say, and the more information we have, the better.”

Jon nodded once, and Elias could see that he felt better about having some course of action. Good. Elias always did like goal-driven employees more than task-oriented ones.

“How were the first days on the job?” Elias asked, fascinated with Jon’s openness. It was so boring to be around the suits who had long since learned to quell any sort of emotions they had.

The irritation that Elias heard earlier, drifting up from the archives, crossed Jon’s face again. “It's been… fine. Slower going than I had hoped for, but that was before I saw the archives. Gertrude left that place a disaster.” Jon checked Elias’ face for any resistance, but finding only disdain at the mention of Gertrude, continued. “She must have done no organization at all – the statements are filed with no rhyme or reason, and just the sheer quantity of them…”

Elias laughed once, quietly, and said, “Yes, she wasn’t much of an archivist.” A sad inside joke.

“Well, Jon, if you don’t need anything else, I have some work to do.”

“Actually, E-” Jon hesitated, then, apparently deciding he had already committed, continued, “Elias, I have also had some problems recording several statements. I’ve been recording them on the tape recorder I found in the archives, but I would like someone to come look at my laptop to fix whatever is wrong with it.”

Elias hummed his acknowledgement, not looking up from his paperwork. “I’ll have someone from tech support come by to take a look at it. Now, if that’s all…?”

Jon left, but Elias barely noticed, once again gazing through his paperwork. The tape recorder… he hadn’t been hopeful that Jon would find it at all, let alone so soon… The Overseer’s memories held echoes of how good it had felt to hear statements running through that magnetic tape, feeding their god… Elias was excited to experience it for himself.

* * *

The Overseer descended the stairs into the damp tunnels. He walked purposefully this time, without panic or fear. It took him longer than he would have liked to find Gertrude’s room. The way there was littered with debris – wine bottles and fast food wrappers were abundant. Elias frowned. Some of them looked new.

It was a relief to see Gertrude still sat in that same chair. Elias half expected her to have disappeared, off to some new country to talk with someone or other. But she remained stationary. Almost too stationary – her flesh was remarkably well preserved, and it didn’t seem moved at all. The tapes, on the other hand, had been disturbed.

Gertrude’s boxes were upended and rearranged. Someone had been listening. Elias emptied a box and began to scan the tapes, watching for the tell-tale glimmers that set the truly important ones apart.

These statements had been a lot more organized than the ones in the archive. Even with the unknown rearrangement, Elias could see the black water dripping from several boxes, and knew that the box near his foot contained statements that were toothier than the rest. Interestingly, the biggest category seemed to be the statements which Elias didn’t recognize. I Do Not Know You. Its glimmering strangeness exuded from dozens of tapes. Elias packed as many of those tapes as he could into his box. He could always return for more.

As he left the room, he knelt to pick up the lighter that had dropped from Gertrude’s hands a lifetime ago. As he did so, he noticed that from her beltloop hung a single metal key. It was grimy when Elias unhooked it from the corpse but rubbing at its surface revealed shiny yellow lustre. A golden key. Elias wondered what it opened.

* * *

MAG 33.

Elias ground his teeth, frustrated. There have been way too many encounters this month. The Prentiss situation was far too early to see the shape of yet, but at least Martin had enough sense about him to avoid being turned into another host. Elias had asked leading questions about Martin’s disappearance, only to have Jon brush him off. It stung, a little – the head of the institute wasn’t used to being ignored. But still, he didn’t reckon things were so bad that the thing, the spiralling Michael, had to intervene. It wasn’t like he left his archivists alone.

Well, he did, but the Distortion didn’t know that.

He was already tired of its stupid obsession with the archives, and he had a feeling it was only going to get worse. It was hard to look at, and it was definitely not done with the archivist yet. But, he had to begrudgingly concede that its hint was useful – he had not known of the Filth’s weakness to carbon dioxide. He put in an order for a new fire suppression system in the archives.

It was with some reluctance that Elias concluded that the institute needed more friends. His predecessor hadn’t, apparently, taken the time to keep up the institute’s previous relations, and Gertrude’s violent behaviors had scared off what little allies they had. Even if Michael had tipped them off earlier, Elias was loathe to try to gain the support of It Is Not What It Is. He wasn’t in the business of dealing with animals. But he did need some support, especially in the face of Prentiss. And that damn Web… Elias kept noticing the cobwebs around the institute. Even though the Web hated the Filth as much as he did, he doubted its presence meant anything good.

In the quiet he heard the distant whirring of the tape recorder. Jon’s annoyed voice drifted up from the archives.

“…still have a mountain of haphazard statements to get through, not to mention that I need to keep this wretched tape recorder on hand just in case I encounter one of the files too STUBBORN to work on anything else and when I do I have to RECORD THE DAMN THING-”

Elias scowled. Yes, he didn’t need any more reminders on the state of his archives. He tried not to listen to Jon’s tirade, instead getting up to hunt for his file on the institute’s contributors. Finally locating it in one of the cabinets that lined his walls, he walked back to his desk where he flipped it open. With some displeasure he noticed the file hadn’t been updated in a while, as some names he recognized had withdrawn their support of the institute. However, there did seem to be some potential allies. But where to start…

“…found the captain in a small bar in one of the seedier areas of the dockside. I’d been told his name was Peter Lukas, but to be honest I wouldn’t…”

Elias huffed a laugh. Jon was getting more and more attuned to the Eye, and Elias might have even suspected that Jon picked up on his indecision, two floors down. He sat down and got comfortable to listen to the statement, conceding that maybe there was some use to him. At the very least, it was amusing to listen to how Jon pitched his voice down on the tapes.

The Lukases were long-time patrons of the Magnus Institute. After Jon finished his statement, Elias called on the fundraising head to host a thank-you dinner for their sponsors and sat down to read up on the Lukas family. By now Jon had recorded two statements regarding the family, so Elias already had an idea on how they operated. Still, he put in a request for files on disappearances or survived isolation and was inundated with cases. It was easy to see the fog practically leaking out of several of them, so Elias began to read.

The Lukas business was interesting. Elias saw vestiges of wealth and grandeur from their family – a long lineage with many accolades. Not so long ago, Forsaken had a very successful line of devoted followers. But now? A shipping company and a charity. Of note was their investment into space travel – a very shrewd move. Elias was impressed. He suspected that, as more methods for connection were developed, Forsaken grew weaker – and Beholding stronger. Interesting. If Elias played his cards right, he might even be able to spin it in such a way as to make it seem that Beholding was doing them a favour.

* * *

No matter how many times he discouraged Jon from seeking his help, Elias was always ignored. He was tying his tie when Jon walked into his office. The gaunt man stopped short, caught off guard.

“Yes, it’s always a surprise to catch me doing things other than paperwork. Anything I can do for you, Jon?” Elias asked, restarting his knot. He had gotten lost in the fabric at the interruption. He almost missed the way Jon swallowed.

“Yes…” Jon trailed off. His curiosity got the best of him. “Going somewhere nice?”

“The opposite, I would say. The institute is hosting a dinner for its patrons. Some people attending are about as far from nice as it gets.”

“That’s actually what I wanted to mention.” Jon stepped further into the room and lowered his voice. “I think some of our sponsors aren’t… right. There’s a statement on my desk regarding one of the Lukas family’s ships – the details don’t add up, but it sounds like someone was murdered aboard it.”

Elias just walked over to his cabinet and took his pressed jacket off the hanger on its knob. “We are not the police. If they believe it is safe to let the ship continue sailing, then there’s really nothing for me to say.”

Jon huffed, frustrated. “You know the police aren’t helpful in this line of work. It's unwise to go around, ah, cavorting with potential murderers! Let alone accepting money from them!”

Elias drew himself up to his full height. “You said there is no evidence, and from what it sounds like it was an isolated incident. It is not good practice to jump to conclusions.”

“Fine,” Jon yielded. “They’re just… they might be dangerous. Is all I’m saying.”

“Please, Jon. I can handle myself.” Elias flashed a shark’s smile and Jon drew back minutely. “But I appreciate the concern.”

Elias crossed the room to stand in front of the man. “Now, how do I look?” Jon’s eyes moved to the right side of his neck. “Ah, thank you.” Elias tucked his shirt collar under his jacket. Jon blushed slightly and looked away, but didn’t move back.

“It’s getting late. Why are you still here?”

“I got lost reading the statement. Then I wanted to talk to you.” Jon was still looking away.

“Honestly I should be hurt that you’d assume I would be at my desk on a Friday evening,” Elias smirked up at Jon. “I do have a life outside the institute, you know.”

“Speaking of,” Elias sidestepped Jon and walked to the door. “I should get going. And you should too.” Elias held the door open for the taller man.

“Enjoy your night.”

* * *

“Oh, there’s Dr. Piers now! Alright, I have to go and try to talk him into a collaboration with my department. It was nice to catch up with you, Elias,” the woman smiled at him and got up from her seat at the table.

“Always a pleasure, Mary.” Elias hummed and thought for a bit, then said, “Be sure to mention your connection to Ms. Brienne. He’s been submitting papers to her journal for some time but has yet to have any published.”

Mary brightened and exclaimed, “I didn’t know that! I will mention it, thank you!” She waved at him and hurried off.

With some disquiet, Elias found that he was smiling. He reminded himself that this was the worst place to show weakness and decided to stay at the table for a few more seconds to collect himself before the next round of socializing.

He had just about made up his mind to get up when the sound of metal scraping across the floor came from beside him.

The screeching sound was accompanied by an equally abrasive, “Aw. Now that was sweet.”

Elias bristled and turned to look at the newcomer. A large man had turned the chair next to Elias completely his way, and was now sat in it, leaning his right elbow on the white cloth of the table. He was dressed like a stereotypical fisherman, complete with cable-knit sweater and dark blue pants stained with salt. He had, apparently, taken the time to trade in the bright yellow rain jacket Elias _knew_ he must have for a dark blue blazer. It didn’t match his pants. The bizarre effect was compounded by the tacky enamel pin in the shape of a lifebuoy on his breast.

The man waited for Elias to complete his scrutinization, then took his arm off the table and held out his hand.

“Peter Lukas.” He grinned. “Very pleased to finally meet you.” His grip was firm.

“Elias Bouchard. Thank you for making it out today, Mr. Lukas. I understand your schedule aboard the Tundra is quite tight, so I appreciate it.” Elias’ arm hurt from the position.

“Please, call me Peter,” waved away Lukas. “Can’t stand the formalities.” He leaned in closer conspiratorially. “To be honest, I shouldn’t have come as the Tundra is hitting a storm right now, but I’ve been wanting to meet the new head of the Magnus Institute for a while. I wasn’t about to miss the opportunity.”

Elias tried to move his chair to face Peter but one big booted foot held his chair in place. Peter looked around the ballroom, showing no sign he had noticed the chair trying to move. Elias, it seemed, was trapped. For now. He instead turned to the table to take a sip of his wine, his neck tiring of being craned towards the captain.

“I am surprised at the number of people who have shown up to your little get-together,” Peter said. “I would have thought that your archivist had scared everyone away. I suppose you’d be the only reason that there are so many people in the room?” Peter leered, watching the side of Elias’ face. He grinned when he saw a muscle tense in Elias’ jaw at the mention of Gertrude.

Apparently deciding to keep prodding, he continued, “You know, we were actually discussing withdrawing our support from you, as the chances of us being her next target were only increasing with time. But I suppose I commend you for dealing with her… in your own time.”

If Peter was going to go about it this way, then Elias would oblige.

“Yes, I was suspecting that you may be scared off. Of course, I couldn’t let that happen, so as you said, that situation has been dealt with. I am confident in my new archivist. However, I can understand if you need to withdraw your support. I’ve noticed we’ve been receiving fewer statements from Forsaken’s victims, and your shipping routes from England have decreased. Beholding is growing stronger in the digital age.” Elias turned to meet Peter’s eye. “I need to know if you can keep up.”

Peter’s face turned ruddy and the noise of the crowd disappeared. Elias didn’t need to look around him to know that they were now the only people in the room. Peter leaned forward, knees digging into the sides of Elias’ leg. A broad hand gripped his armrest. The wood creaked.

“I disagree, Elias,” Peter hissed, almost into his ear. The smell of salt was stronger than ever. “Just because you’re not receiving your precious statements doesn’t mean that Forsaken is weakening. Quite the opposite. The storm that is bearing down on the neighbouring village is not less weak than if it was bearing down on yours.”

With the isolation came the disappearance of any interesting material to focus on, so Elias’ eyes fell on Peter. All of his eyes. He knew from experience it was not a pleasant feeling.

Elias shifted in his chair to face Peter as fully as he could, careful to keep his legs still in contact with the larger man. He had no issue with making digs at impersonal subjects such as business but was not inclined to insult the man on something as personal as whatever was going on with Peter and physical contact. He did still need Peter’s support.

Elias sighed. “Peter. Do you really think using your isolation was the smartest move? In this setting, of all places? You are not the only,” he searches around for a better word, but finding none, begrudgingly spits out, “powerful person here. This move will not go unnoticed, and I’d rather not cause a scene.”

Peter maintained his glare for a few moments more, then with a sigh he waved his hand and the room appeared in focus again. Elias let most of his eyes slide off the man. Peter leaned back in his chair, moving his feet so they were no longer trapping Elias in, instead threading them through the legs of the chair. Elias felt boots touch his heels. Peter folded his hands over his belly and rearranged his face into a bashful expression.

“I’m sorry, Elias, you’re completely right. I did get carried away there. I was trying to say that Solace Shipping is doing well. You’ve rightly pointed out that we’ve decreased our England runs, but that is only because we have recently started expanding our international routes.”

“I have to say, Elias,” he interrupted himself, “I am reassured about the direction your institute is taking. You seem quite competent and I’m glad to hear that your new archivist behaves much better.” Somewhere in the Atlantic, the Tundra was being tossed around violently. “Now, I am needed elsewhere, but it was a pleasure to talk to you. Let’s see each other again soon.”

Peter slid his chair back with a wink at Elias and was gone not three steps away from the table.

Glancing around at the remaining guests waiting to pester him, Elias almost wished Peter stayed. At least he was direct, and that would have been more entertaining than wrapping up the event alone.

* * *

MAG 36.

If Elias felt better about the state of the institute, it was quickly forgotten.

That damn Web, always sticking its feelers into where it wasn’t wanted.

Which is to say, Jon got a package.

Elias couldn’t delay any longer - the foreign object in Jon’s desk was digging into his mind. It was just infuriating how the Web always knew how to hit every bird in the sky with one stone.

A lighter.

Even if Elias believed Jon wouldn’t pick up smoking again if pressed hard enough, just the proximity of an ignition source to the very flammable contents of the archives was a bad idea. That, combined with the reminder of Gertrude’s treachery, was enough to make him an irritable mess. The somewhat ham-fisted assertion that it could drag Jon back to his previous selves was obvious. For the Web this was rather excessive, but Elias had a suspicion it wasn’t bothering to tread lightly simply due to his archivist’s unfortunate obliviousness.

As far as he could tell, Jon hadn’t even noticed it. He sighed, frustrated. Come on, Jon. The part of him that had been the Overseer chided him, saying it had only been some months – he was expecting too much. But if Jon had as natural an aptitude for serving his god as it seemed to believe – Elias sighed. Fine.

“Tim, do you have a moment?” Elias leaned out of his office door. Tim’s brightly patterned shirt billowed as he pivoted around on his heel.

He flashed his most winning smile. “Sure. What is it, boss?”

“It’s really nothing. I noticed Rosie had signed for a package for Jon. I’m missing an order of folders, so I was wondering if they had gotten sent to his office by mistake. Would you please check with him?”

“Oh. Sure, will do. Anything else?”

“That’s it. Thank you, Tim.” Elias leaned on his door and watched Tim walk down the stairs to the archives. Watched Jon rooting through his desk drawer until he pulled out a web-emblazoned lighter.

Jon stared at it a while, then - “It doesn’t mean anything to me, you?”

Elias resisted banging his head against his door.

* * *

MAG 39.

Jane Prentiss had done a remarkably good job of hiding her swarm.

Elias was, of course, aware of the growing mob of worms within the institute walls. But as his office was on the third floor, he was not as concerned as maybe he should have been. Elias had slipped into his old ways and had taken to leaving the archivist and his assistants to their own devices. Perhaps it was too early in their careers to do so. Elias can admit his mistakes when pressed, and he certainly did not see that many worms in the walls. So, it was with some alarm that he realized he may have misjudged the situation.

As the horde of filth poured into the archives, Elias sat at his desk and concentrated. Prayed to his god to cast its eye onto them and banish their diseased forms. Unfortunately, his god was strong but it could only do so much. It slowed the forms down with the weight of its gaze but it was clear that more drastic measures needed to be taken. The wounds in the archive walls were bleeding into Elias’ mind. It was hard to see.

Through the chaos cut the sound of the tape recorder. A single ray pierced the blood-fog as Martin recounted the events at Jon’s insistence. With the flow of new experiences, Elias sharpened. As soon as he felt his mental faculties were in order, he left his office and went to get some fire extinguishers. They would have to do this by hand.

The way to the storage room was free of worms. During his walk, Jon’s voice echoed in his head. Him and Martin were having some sort of bonding moment which, although absurd, was understandable. In times of crisis and all that. Still, Elias tried not to think too hard on the pang of possessiveness he felt – Martin was inconsequential.

“I would advise you to not go that way,” Elias said, blocking the way of a grad student. “We’re having a bit of an infestation right now, it’s a nasty sight.” He squinted at her, then added, “Cockroaches.”

She visibly paled and quickly walked back the way she came.

“BECAUSE I’M SCARED!” Jon’s yell startled Elias. “Because when I record these statements it feels… it feels like I’m being watched. I lose myself a bit and when I come back, it's like…”

Elias stopped in the hallway. Weaving a tight net, he cast his consciousness about the archives. It may be nothing… but Jon’s phrasing had sounded so familiar that Elias ached. He didn’t find anything. The Archivist was still gone. But Elias made a mental note to himself to watch Jon closely sometime during a recording.

Elias was still standing in place when the fire alarm went off. Moments later Sasha careened around the corner and barrelled into him, clutching a tape recorder. She started babbling about worms immediately.

Elias delicately plucked the tape recorder from her and turned it on. His god must be exhausted.

“Right. Tell me again, please.”

Sasha was visibly shaken. She had pulled the fire alarm. Elias could feel the worms eating their way through six more boxes of statements as he questioned her. Thankfully none of the statements were of great importance so the loss of information only felt like papercuts so far, but Elias was certain it would get exponentially more painful if nothing was done.

“Of course. The fire alarm was a good move, but it does mean most staff have evacuated, so we’ll have to deal with them ourselves.”

Sasha was getting more and more frustrated. She still thought he was a blind manager, sitting in his bubble. Good.

“There are thousands of them, Elias.”

“Not quite what I meant.” Distantly he heard the sound of drywall crumbling, accompanying Jon’s panicked voice. Their hideout was being broken into. Elias tensed, ready to run to the archives. He rambled under Sasha’s stare, attention on Jon. “On Jon’s insistence I recently changed the Archive’s fire suppression system to user carbon dioxide. Should have done it years ago, really—”

The drywall broke.

“So why hasn’t it gone off?” demanded Sasha.

Tim’s voice echoed on the tape. Jon was safe. He let out a breath, relieved. “Because there isn’t an actual fire.”

Sasha slumped. “Right. Right. Can we set if off manually? I think Jon’s got a lighter somewhere.”

“He’s not smoking again, is he?” Elias asked distractedly as Jon disappeared from sight. “Anyways, it shouldn’t be necessary. There is a manual release a few floors down.”

“Wait. Will it hurt Martin or Jon?”

“Almost certainly.”

The three had escaped into the tunnels though, so the archives were empty. Elias led the way down the stairs to the boiler room that housed the activation switch. As they descended the worms appeared in greater and greater numbers, until they rounded the corner that led to the archives. The solid wall of filth that immediately bore down on them was formidable. Elias, powerless against the mass of deranged bodies, turned and ran. Sasha did too, ducking into Artefact Storage while Elias kept running down the corridors, recalculating his route to the boiler room.

It took significantly longer to get to the room after that. Elias was in sight of the door when a garbled scream came from Artefact Storage, stopping Elias in his tracks. It quickly tapered off, but the unfamiliar voice that replaced it on the tape was even more worrisome. There was no sound from Sasha – had someone taken her tape recorder?

He couldn’t see through the chaos and he didn’t have time. Elias shook himself into action once more, resolving to look into it as soon as he had dealt with the worm problem. He wrenched open the boiler room door and pulled the manual release. For a moment, nothing happened. Then came a sound so horrific that Elias doubled over, clutching at his ears. The destruction of the statements ceased with the scream. The worms lying in the corridors were still. He breathed a sigh of relief. The invasion seemed to be over.

Using a phone at a nearby desk, Elias called the emergency services. He made sure to stress the squirming nature of the situation. Hopefully they would send someone experienced. He grabbed a first aid kit from the staff room on his way down to the archives.

Elias’ clothes were already ruined, so he had no excuses. He still hesitated before starting down the hallway. The worms popped beneath his shoes like coals. The smell of earth was already giving way to the stench of decay. The door to the archives was slanted open, the carpet of worms considerably higher past it. They rolled out into the hallway as Elias squeezed into the archives, shuddering at the sensation of the bodies shifting around his ankles.

The holey corpse of Jane Prentiss was laying a further ways into the archives, her tattered dress almost empty. The shelves around her were covered in a fetid slime. Those statements would be unrecoverable. However, Elias was surprised to notice that most of the archives were in pretty good shape, considering what had just happened.

A slight sound had Elias whipping around. It was Sasha. She was standing beside two prone bodies, staring at the trap door. A trickle of worms cascaded from her feet. Under Elias’ gaze, she sprung into action and went to get the broom still somehow standing in the corner. It was strange – Sasha looked the same, and her jerky movements could be explained away by the trauma of the last several hours, but her voice had been wrong. It was not the same voice Elias had heard on the tapes. Elias couldn’t stop thinking about the way she had sounded in Artefact Storage.

But, again, that was an issue for another time. Elias made his way over to the two bodies. Twin streaks of red showed where they had been dragged in from the tunnels. Sighing, Elias knelt at Jon’s side and looked him over. Blood spurted sluggishly around the pale, swollen carcasses of the worms still in his skin. They almost looked like stars, dotting a darkening sky. Elias had always been a romantic at heart.

Shaking his head, Elias began to pull the worms out. They each made a sucking sound as they popped out that Elias categorically stored away, almost against his will. The blood ran quicker after the removal. The hole they left behind was almost exactly the size of the cotton swabs that were in his kit.

Sasha, finished sweeping the worms from around the unconscious men, knelt across from Elias and started to work on Tim’s arm. Elias wordlessly passed her some bandages.

He had cleared Jon’s left leg when the paramedics finally arrived. Elias stood back, wiping his hands with a disinfecting cloth as they loaded Jon and Tim onto stretchers and carried them out. The paramedics demonstrated impressive composure, only their faces betraying their disgust at the carnage around them. They remained perfectly professional otherwise. Sasha had disappeared somewhere.

“I honestly could not guess at an origin for this infestation. This is unlike anything I’ve seen. Maybe we have some files on the matter, but,” Elias gestured around him, “this will take a long time to clean up.”

The ECDC man just nodded absently, eyes on Prentiss’ body as it was rolled out of the room.

“And I would like to say, again, how much we appreciate your help in—” Elias stopped speaking just before the trapdoor burst open.

Martin practically flew up through it and immediately started trying to gasp something out in between his panicked breaths. Elias waited, doing nothing to help him. He was hoping that Martin would just pass out like the others. Elias had enough people to deal with as it was.

No such luck. Martin finally was able to straighten up a bit and gasp out, “Body. In the tunnels. I – I don’t know where, but I think its Ge—” 

Elias quickly strode over to Martin and made a show of checking him over. He seemed to be clear of active worms. Elias was aware of the man behind him, limiting his options.

“That is concerning. First things first, however – Martin, I need you to go get yourself checked for worms. I’ll call the police. I’m sure they’ll want a statement from you,” Elias said, leading Martin out of the room. The man from ECDC was still staring at the worms.

Elias had been hoping that the matter of Gertrude’s body would have come up later. He had elected to keep it in the labyrinth after he had hired Jon – Jon was going to find out, sooner or later, and moving the body for him hadn’t seemed right. Still, he was almost regretting his decision. These shocks have come early in Jon’s career, and Elias didn’t want Jon to make any rash decisions. He was still developing.

* * *

MAG 40

If Elias didn’t know better, he would have thought he had another corpse in a chair to deal with.

Jon lay slumped on his desk, head in his arms. His tattered clothes were dark with various substances and showed just how much of his body was covered in plasters. This skin that wasn’t bandaged was grey, crusted with sweat and blood. The archives were a mess of half-eaten paper and collapsed shelves. And worms. It looked like Jon had cleared the area around his desk of them and then promptly collapsed.

“You should go home, Jon.”

Jon snapped his head up from his arms at Elias’ voice, eyes darting around wildly. He didn’t seem to register Elias all that much, but he calmed down after a few seconds in the absence of wriggling bodies.

“No, no,” mumbled Jon, reaching for the tape recorder. “I need to…” His hand was shaking.

Elias handed it to him, then sat down. Jon nodded his thanks, not looking at him. He didn’t question why Elias was in the chair across from him, not remembering that he hadn’t asked anyone to give their statements. Elias had guessed that’s what Jon would try to do and had come down here first to try to dissuade him.

“This isn’t healthy.”

Ignoring him, Jon pressed record. “Statement of, uh…”

Elias tried one more time, with a little more force. “Jon. As your boss, I’m telling you to go home.”

Jon waved his concerns away. He was fine, clean bill of health, so on and so forth. At this point, Elias was more curious to find out why Jon insisted on staying in the archives, after having gone through what must have been a very traumatic event.

He should have known.

“I need to be here. Keep watch. What Martin found…” Jon’s eyes slid to the trapdoor.

“That’s a matter for the police.” Elias had known Jon would fixate on Gertrude’s death. He was a hazard to the institute, sometimes. But as Elias followed Jon’s gaze down to the trapdoor, he saw a thin black tendril coiled around his ankle.

Jon said that he would go home after getting everyone’s statements, but Elias didn’t hear him. He was desperately trying to follow the limb to its source. It was so far away and the connection was faint, but Elias could almost see the Archivist.

“Very well,” distractedly said Elias. He decided not to meddle, in fear of scaring the wounded being away. He would not hurt it again. He would give his statement.

Jon began to speak. “Statement of Elias Bouchard, head of the Magnus Institute, regarding the infestation by the entity formerly known as Jane Prentiss.” Returning to the room, Elias saw that the words seemed to give Jon some strength back. It may have just been the reassuring familiarity of reciting the introduction, but Elias hoped it was more than that.

Elias recounted his movements of the past hours. Despite the waste of time, Elias did enjoy being on the other side of the tape recorder and having Jon’s undivided attention on him. Elias paused his account to remind Jon that this should be all on the tape Sasha had.

Jon’s face twisted.

“There was some sort of problem with that tape. Sasha tells me that it's lost.”

Elias drew together his eyebrows. That was concerning. The more he heard about Sasha’s behavior during the incident, the more he grew certain that something was very wrong. He kept his concerns to himself and carried on with his statement. Jon’s eyes bore into him as he neared his statement, and apprehension settled in Elias’ stomach when Jon asked about Martin. Then about Gertrude.

“You can barely stand,” exasperatedly said Elias. The archivist watched him over the desk. “Why don’t we do this tomorrow?”

He knew it was a lost cause. Jon would remain at that desk for as long as it took to get the story out of Elias. Elias cursed his soft nature and conceded.

“Fine.” Jon leaned forward. “On the 15th of March last year…” Elias tried to keep his statement short, as Jon had enough to think about. He concluded with, “Martin finding her body in the tunnels is as much a mystery to me as it is to you.”

Jon sighed, unsatisfied. “Right. Thank you, Elias. Statement ends.” He sat back. “Can you send in Tim?”

Elias stayed in his seat, disregarding Jon’s clear dismissal. The tape recorder shut off and Jon didn’t notice. Jon didn’t seem to notice anything in this state – this was not proper behavior for an archivist. Elias needed to center him, somehow.

So, he asked. “How did the worms get in?”

Jon shook his head slightly. “A shelf collapsed.”

Elias needed him to remember this. Jon needed to train himself to remember everything.

“Why did the shelf collapse.”

“I, uh… this should all be on the tapes. I was recording when the attack started—”

“No, Jon. I need you to remember. Why did the shelf collapse?”

Jon was on the verge of giving out. He shook as the events replayed in his mind against his will. If he couldn’t answer one simple question, there was no hope for him.

Jon pulled himself together as if making a decision. Sitting up straighter, he replied, “A spider. I hit a spider on the wall.”

Elias sighed. Maybe he did have help with the infestation after all. Not from his preferred source for sure, but still. He really needed to investigate the Web.

“What struck you as important?” Elias asked. Jon started to protest, but Elias cut him off. “It is crucial for you to differentiate events of importance from everything else. If your clean bill of health is holding,” Elias shot him a look and Jon scowled but nodded back, “it's better to go through the events while they’re fresh.”

Jon looked down at his mangled hands. His nervous scratching stilled, and his eyes unfocused. Elias watched as Jon pushed the panic and fear aside, pulling the diseased few details out for analysis. Mirroring Elias not two hours before, Jon pulled the dead spent things from himself and examined them.

He began to speak. “There was a door, Tim said. The worms were making a door. He said he extinguished it.”

“We’ll need to make sure that the door fully died,” Elias suggested. He wasn’t sure if Jon heard him. The tendril around Jon’s ankle was pulsing. He looked to be in a trance.

“The worms in the tunnels were faster. Quieter. Something supressed them in the institute.”

“That is a very good point. I’ll have to mention the tunnels to the cleaning crew.” Elias was now sure Jon couldn’t hear him. But it was interesting that he mentioned pressure. He wondered if the archivist could feel the eyes on him.

“Tim has very nice legs. Probably ruined now, though.”

Elias decided not to respond to that.

“The recorder.” Jon surfaced from his thoughts. Now talking to Elias, he continued, “Sasha chewed me out for trying to get to the tape recorder. Not as thoroughly as the worms did,” Jon laughed hollowly, “but still. I’m thinking about it. Why did I do that?”

Elias echoed Jon. “Because we have enough statements in the archives?”

“I mean, I have enough statements.” Jon squinted at Elias. “Have… Have you read any? Do you know what’s in there?”

Elias gazed evenly back at the archivist. “I don’t really have the time. But yes, on occasion.”

Jon hesitated. When he spoke he sounded almost desperate. “Do you get that feeling? Being bound to the tapes? Or are you tied to something else?”

Elias brought his hands forward onto Jon’s desk, stopping just short of Jon’s bandaged fingers. “Not bound, Jon. We have both chosen to pursue the truth. Your job is to experience and document, and mine is, apparently,” Elias cast his gaze around the room, “to clean up after you.”

Elias was pleased to see Jon’s cheeks find a bit of colour at that.

“For what it's worth, I’m sorry you had to go through this.”

He had to be certain.

“Will you continue?”

Jon met his eyes. “Yes.”

His mouth moved strangely with his reply, as if biting into the air between them. Something snapped, almost like a nerve pinching. The hand resting on Jon's desk sagged slightly, as if the wrist had been partially severed. Alarm pulsed through him but when Elias looked down his arm was whole. No worm, no wound had marked him. The pinch terminated with the closing of Jon’s mouth. Elias looked up at him – what did you do, Jonathan – but Jon seemed unaware, instead leaning back. His cheeks regained more colour. Distant amusement filtered down to the archives.

Elias shivered. The Archivist had closed the distance; he could feel its presence nearer. He stood. If this was a cause of concern, the Overseer would tell him, Elias decided. It stayed silent and watchful. Elias left the archivist to his job.

He had some CCTV footage to ruin.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it will become very clear that peter is based on a handful of tumblr posts i thought were funny  
> anyways i finally get to tag the relationships now huzzah
> 
> put me out of my misery @laymanterms.tumblr.com


	4. The Librarian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Elias practices his golf stroke.

MAG 41.

Jonathan was even more stupidly paranoid than Elias had thought.

Elias was not impressed with how he had handled the Prentiss situation. He had hardly done anything besides panic. His assistants had proven to be a lot more useful than him. Still, the resolve Jon had shown in staying at the archives to find out what happened to Gertrude was impressive, if unwelcome. Elias had to threaten to volunteer him for the cleanup crew for Jon to finally go home. That had turned out to be largely ineffective as he had seen Jon come in during the past month to steal the keys to the trapdoor from his desk, explore the tunnels, and get yelled at by Martin for both activities.

Jon was back now, and Elias had gotten himself comfortable to listen to his statement. It had been strange to not hear Jon’s voice murmuring in his ear this past month. It had felt kind of lonely. Elias winced as he remembered about Forsaken. He had been too distracted these last few months to make a follow-up notice. Not a good look.

He wrote a reminder to himself in his notebook, then closed it and sat back again. Jon had started his statement, and his artificially lowered voice soon enveloped Elias as he absorbed his experiences.

“Jane Prentiss is dead. I know this. So why do I still feel like I’m being watched? I’d just about convinced myself it was Prentiss, watching me in secret while she filled the walls with her writhing hordes, but no. She is dead and gone, and still whenever I talk into this damn thing, I feel this... I’m being watched. I know I am. I’d think it was some aspect of the recorder itself, but it still happens even when I’m just reading these files. Not as strongly as when I’m... recording them, perhaps, but still there. Is it…”

Jon trailed off, then laughed, dismissing his concerns. Elias knew that Jon was being observed closely, as the tunnels were inaccessible by the rest of Beholding – this information was very important. But as far as Elias could see, the tape was only feeding directly into Beholding – the Archivist was absent, as usual. Elias would have to check in with Jon more often.

Elias tuned back in.

“The first time I attempted to explore them, I had no idea. I brought one torch and that was it. The lights in the archive were off when I arrived at the institute. I hadn’t been down here since it was full of worm carcasses. I’d never explored down here by torchlight, and the shadows were... starker than I had anticipated. Every time I walked between the shelves, I swear I would see movement out the corner of my eye. But when I turned, there was nothing.”

The archives had been closed to all employees for a good portion of the month. Had Jon seen the Archivist, haunting its damaged home? Elias ignored his jealousy and urged himself to have patience. In time.

Jon described the twisting tunnels underneath the institute. He had, remarkably, managed to notice nothing of use. His description of the worm circle was mildly interesting. Elias had not thought the Filth believed itself to be strong enough to attempt its ascension, especially under the Magnus Institute. Especially in Smirke’s tunnels. Elias had always known the Filth wasn’t very bright, but this plan was doomed to fail from the start. Centuries of work foiled by four underpaid employees with some tanks of gas. Incredible.

The only other point of interest in Jon’s account was the fact that he nearly died. Elias was caught between a need for information on the tunnels and doubt about Jon’s survival skills. The thing that had collapsed the tunnels around him, Elias was certain, was whatever had been helping Gertrude. It was still down there, then. Maybe scheming. Maybe hiding. At any rate, it had shown a soft spot for Jon. If he could somehow lure it out with Jon as bait—

The recorder clicked on again, catching Elias off guard. He had thought his story was finished. Jon’s voice forced its way into the channel of statements.

“Supplemental. I don’t care about the tunnels, or the secrets they might hide. My primary focus must be on who killed Gertrude Robinson, and I do not believe for a moment that it was a wall-moving spectre from the depths of the earth. No, far more likely it’s one of my colleagues. Elias is a prime suspect, but it could have been any of them.”

Elias huffed a laugh, delighted. Jon had apparently decided to trust no one but the tape recorder.

Logically, Elias should have been his last suspect, being an idle bureaucrat and all, but this conclusion was in line with the type of shoddy research that Jon had shown previously. His line of thinking probably went something like this: Elias was the only person Jon knew who had been in the institute when Gertrude had died, so therefore he was the killer. Granted, it was true, but only by chance. Jon really needed to learn to develop his theories more thoroughly.

Jon was still speaking. “These tapes will be hidden. If you’re hearing this, I assume you’re my replacement, following my death or disappearance, and have received instructions on where to find them. My statement was, of course, completely true, though I have deliberately overstated my interest in the tunnels. If my colleagues believe that to be my main focus, they may let their guard down. This level of paranoia is new to me, but I’m learning fast. Trust can get you killed.” The tape clicked off.

Elias laughed out loud, alone in his office. Jon should have gone into theatre.

* * *

MAG 44.

The police were treating Jon as a suspect. Which made sense, but it did mean that there were more police sniffing around the institute than Elias would like. Like that cop that visited Jon occasionally. Hussain. She brought tapes with her. Gertrude’s tapes. Elias wasn’t sure if he was upset by that or not. On one hand, this could safely accelerate the archivist’s growth. On the other hand, he may be influenced by Gertrude’s less desirable qualities.

On the third hand, he may be influenced by Gertrude’s desirable qualities. At least she knew how to keep a secret.

After Jon’s dramatic speech, Elias had expected more of him. A drawer full of unlabeled tapes at his desk? He was a fool. Sasha had already gone through his desk and taken some tapes. If Jon wanted to keep his schemes to himself, he had to hurry up and find another place for them.

Elias checked and sure enough, she was in Artefact Storage again, staring at the webbed table. She looked the same as Elias remembered her, but her taped voice hadn’t been removed from the institute, and it was still different. Elias had a nasty feeling about why she gravitated towards that table. Elias would have been more worried about her, except that these imposters tended to be chaotic and single-minded. Still miles smarter than any hive, but, if there had to be an enemy spy in the archives, Elias would take the Not Them.

That didn’t mean that he would make it easy for her. She had already impeded Jon’s sight once – his statements were all he had so far. Elias, passing by the archives on his way to a meeting, took a detour into them and slid Jon’s desk drawer just slightly further out. At this rate, it would be a miracle if Jon noticed, but Elias didn’t dare push his involvement further. Jon had to step up to his role of head archivist at some point.

Jon did notice, surprisingly, and started hiding them beneath one of the floorboards. It was better than nothing.

* * *

MAG 47.

Elias was stretched out on one of the café’s plush chairs. The room was bright with high ceilings and speckled with green plants. Vegetarian. Elias really hoped it was the opposite of what Peter would like. He passed the time by examining the passersby out the window to his right. The sharp afternoon sun filled the empty chair across from him. Peter still had a minute before he was late.

The captain appeared from thin air on the pavement two blocks away and checked himself over. His clothing was a lot less ridiculous than it had been at the dinner. A beige sweater matched with some surprisingly nice slacks. Everything was in order except for the rope. Peter was just… wearing a circle of rope over his shoulder. Elias’ eye twitched. Peter plucked a piece of seaweed off his pants and started down the street.

As he walked, he passed a man walking alone in the opposite direction, whom Peter spun around to follow. After a moment, a wisp of fog gripped the stranger’s coat. Peter turned back to continue on down the street and flashed a grin at the security camera perched atop a nearby doorway from which Elias had been watching.

Still grinning, he entered the café and spotted Elias, sitting near the window.

The waitress intercepted him, asking him a question, but Peter simply brushed past her.

Elias made sure to drag his eyes over the approaching man. He had been planning on thanking Peter for convincing his family of Elias’ competence. But now, actually seeing the man in person, Elias couldn’t quite bring himself to give Peter any reason to be even more obnoxious.

Peter settled into the plush chair opposite of Elias, copying his relaxed sprawl. After looking expectantly at Elias for a minute, he shrugged and reached into his back pocket. Pulling out an absolutely destroyed copy of Moby Dick, he began to read, unbothered by the silence. Elias tried really hard not to launch himself over the table. Of course it had to be Moby Dick.

Determined not to let Peter get to him, Elias looked out the café window. The sunny afternoon lit the parked cars and passersby starkly. Everything was sharp and seen. The man Peter had marked was walking along completely deserted streets. Elias frowned. The spontaneous marking had already taken effect – Elias would have expected a larger turnaround period for Forsaken. Perhaps he hadn't given it enough credit. He felt a little better about the chain of decisions leading up to him sitting in this café.

Elias sighed to himself, then finally turned to Peter. Peter had sunk further into his chair, relaxing in his patch of sunlight. He looked as if he was absorbed in his book, but his outstretched leg gently bumped against Elias’ own.

“I’m glad to see that you can dress like a normal person,” Elias said. Peter’s eyes flicked up to look at the head of the institute. “Somewhat,” Elias added.

“Of course. I mean, one of us had to do it.” He squinted at Elias’ rings. “Like I said, I was in a bit of a tight spot last time. Which,” Peter put the book back into his pocket and spread his arms, “was well over three months ago! Playing aloof, Elias?”

“Hardly playing,” Elias responded, sitting up and moving his chair closer to the table. Peter immediately hooked on foot around his ankle. “You’ve heard of the Filth’s attempted ascension under my institute. In the chaos I simply forgot.” Elias did his best to look remorseful. “I had wanted to thank you for extending your support.”

“Yes, I heard about that. Dreadful business.” Peter wrestled himself out of his chair’s plush cushions with a groan and sat forward, elbows on his knees. He hulked over the small table and Elias became very aware of his own small stature. “The Archivist.” Peter asked, attentive. “Following in his predecessor’s footsteps?”

Elias couldn’t help himself – he snorted. Peter looked surprised, then delighted at the crude noise. “Jon? Hardly. The failed ritual was most certainly not his doing. His assistants were more help than he was.”

Peter tilted his head. “I thought you said you had confidence in him?”

“I do,” conceded Elias, “but he has trouble putting the pieces together. And even more trouble acting logically on the information he has.” A pause. “But he’s learning,” added Elias, suddenly self-conscious. He shouldn’t be telling institute secrets to anyone. It seemed that Peter’s abrasiveness had drawn blood.

Peter huffed a laugh. “I appreciate your optimism, Elias. What I can tell you is that everyone on the outside is under the impression that your archivist stopped the Filth’s ritual single-handedly. We were suitably impressed. I’ll make sure to not tell anyone otherwise.”

At Elias’ displeased set of mouth, Peter continued. “You know, I’m in much the same position as you are now. My cousin, Richard, has been taking all the credit for the recent expansion into the Arctic Ocean. I, being a shrewd businessman, offered my services, and now wouldn’t you know it – Dick is going around telling everyone that he’s the one who masterminded this!”

Elias laughed. “I would say to zap him, but I feel that’s in bad taste, especially with family.” Elias thought for a moment, then remembered the rope still hanging over Peter’s shoulder. “Oh, why are you asking me? It looks like you’ve already got your problem figured out.”

Peter frowned across the table, confused. Then, following Elias’ gaze, burst into a deep laugh when he saw the rope.

“It seems I do!”

Elias waited for Peter to quieten. “Not to pry into your business, but what expansions are you making into the Arctic?” Elias asked, leaning forward. Under the small table, his knees brushed against Peter’s.

Peter hummed. “Ny-Ålesund has been getting a lot of traffic. Their own shipping company hasn’t been able to keep up, so I’ve offered my services. Since they’ve already invested so much into that town, they’ve had no qualms with my rates. Rates which I’ve, of course, steepened.”

Elias’ mouth twisted. “I can’t say I approve. You know how we feel about Forever Blind.”

Peter shook his head. “Still upset over that old library?” Elias opened his mouth to deny it, but Peter got a gleam in his eye and beat him to it. “It’s old news, Elias! I know it happened when you were young and impressionable but it’s the new age. We have to learn to get along!”

Elias’ eyebrows shot up. “Was that an old joke? About me? I’m sorry, Peter, but a few more months at sea and you’ll look identical to salt-cured jerky. In fact I suspect your family has prematurely started the preservation processes just judging from the smell of salt.”

His words had little effect on the man, who just smirked in reply.

“I wouldn’t put it past them,” Peter said. “Did you know that Roxanne recently hired a huntsman to kill me?”

“What did you do to her?”

“Nothing! That’s the fun part. I’ve taken up wood carving recently, and I quite enjoy carving animals. I’ve been trying to get cows right. I don’t have any use for them, so I’ve been leaving them around Roxanne’s desk as a gift. It’s too bad that her favourite cow was absolutely eviscerated by a wolf when she was younger. I think she’s still upset about it.”

“Hmm.” Elias looked and, sure enough, she had forgotten to lock the barn doors that night. The cows had gotten out and the wolves descended. The house had awoken to a very gory scene the next morning. Although that scene was nothing compared to what took place in the night.

“I wonder if she knows that she was the reason the cows got out,” Elias mused, staring off into the distance. He glanced at Peter.

Peter met his eyes over the table. “I don’t think she does.”

They passed some hours like that, complaining and scheming. Sunset found them leaning over the small table, Peter animatedly gesturing as he told Elias about his recent run in with Salesa. His legs framed Elias’ under the table, gently pressing against the outsides of Elias’ knees. Elias was just suggesting how they could slip him a few choice artefacts when he felt an alarm tug at him.

“If he had a tough time with that box, he should see the painting we just acqui--”

Far away, doors were opening and closing. Something moved through the world without leaving a mark. It didn’t make sense. The absence of logical data corresponding to its path was nearing the institute.

Peter was watching Elias’ face. “Something wrong?”

“No,” Elias said, drawing out the word. In the archives, Jon was wrapping up some woman’s statement. A statement about doors. Shit.

“I’m sorry to cut this short but I’m needed back at my office. We’ll talk later.” Elias stood and, not waiting for a handshake, lightly pressed down on Peter’s hand as he left the café. He didn’t see Peter stay seated, staring at his hand. Elias was single-mindedly calculating the fastest route to the institute.

The Distortion must have thought its little nonsense visit was worth something if it had mustered enough strength to open into the archives. Elias was almost running through the streets, Jon’s confused questions echoing on the concrete. The institute loomed in front of him.

“You still haven’t told me why you intervened at all!” Elias should be proud - Jon, wounded, still asking questions. But not of Michael.

Michael’s voice meandered through his channels. Elias heard him from inside his left shoulder. “I’m normally neutral, yes. But the loss of this place would have unbalanced the struggle too early.” His voice crackled underneath Elias’ shoes like rocks. “I’m keen to see how this progresses.”

Jon interrupted him. “You make it sound like there’s a war.”

Elias burst through the institute’s doors. Looking at the Distortion hurt but his god was powerful, especially here - it would burn Michael like an ant under a lens if it said the wrong thing, no matter the headache. Elias fixed his eyes on Michael, imagined the tsunami of knowledge waiting to break upon his head. If it wanted to see what Gertrude thought of him in his assistant days, all it had to do was keep talking. He stalked down to the archives.

Michael laughed once, glancing up at the Overseer. “Then I will say nothing further. I wouldn’t wish to tarnish your ignorance prematurely.” It backed away from the wave of possessive rage bearing down on the archives. “Goodbye, archivist.” Its door closed and Elias stopped just short of the archives’ door, following its trail away from the institute.

Jon’s disappointment leaked out from under the door, coating Elias’ shoes. He softly moaned in pain, but Elias had already turned his back on him. Jon could take care of himself.

* * *

MAG 48.

The tension in the archives would have been unbearable if Elias cared at all. As it were, the occasional outburst from Tim’s desk was only a mild irritation. Martin’s visit didn’t come as a surprise, though, when he peeked around Elias’ door.

“Yes, Martin?” Elias asked, squinting at the forehead he saw peeking out from behind the door. Martin hesitantly stepped into the room, followed by an enraged Tim.

“Hi, Elias. Um, we’ve been talking, and we’re really concerned about Jon. We wanted to bring this up with you because he’s been… erratic. Lately.”

Tim snorted. Elias glanced over at his scowl. He did not have the energy to deal with another one of his tantrums. Elias addressed his questions to Martin.

“How so?”

Martin wrung his hands together. “Well, ever since the Prentiss incident, Jon’s been acting off. I think he’s under a lot of stress, he barely goes home and he’s snappish—”

“He’s _watching_ my _house_ ,” Tim snarled. Elias perked up. Now that was promising.

“Really? How do you know?”

“It’s not like he’s any good at it. He just follows me after work some days. Has a trench coat he wears when he does. Probably thinks he blends in wearing that and sunglasses.”

Elias fought down his amusement. “And how does that make you feel?”

Tim’s nostrils flared. “N—”

Martin quickly cut him off. “We’re just worried. That amount of stress is going to impact his work and our work, so we thought we should talk to you about it.”

Elias leaned back, thinking. Jon stalking his coworkers was exciting news. He was gaining more and more agency. While he didn’t want to discourage this behaviour, he was also tired of Tim’s attitude. And Martin did have a point. Their work would suffer if they were busy being at each other’s throats.

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention.” Elias hadn’t talked with Jon in a while, so he supposed they could stand to catch up. “I will be talking to Jon about this. Is there anything else you want me to mention?”

Tim’s lips pressed into a displeased line. Martin looked grateful. “No, that’s all, I think. Just… say that we are worried about him.”

Elias nodded and the two filed out of his office, Tim giving him one last glare over his shoulder.

Elias waited until they had returned to their desks, then sent Jon an email. An hour later, Jon knocked at his door.

“Come in.”

The door opened and Jon’s gaunt frame entered his office. Sitting down, Jon asked, “I’m starting to think you like getting complaints about me.” His hand snaked around to his back pocket and Elias heard a familiar click. Very subtle.

“I don’t enjoy having to have these meetings, Jon. You know I don’t.” As Elias spoke, his voice echoed back to him through the tape recorder Jon had brought with him.

Jon’s tone was hostile, regarding the space around Elias warily. “Well I’m sorry you’re compelled to. This is about a complaint?” At Elias’ nod, he asked waspishly, “Who from this time? Was Dr. Elliot offended I declined to take his apple? Was I too rude to Michael?”

Elias made the biggest show of his life asking, “Who is Michael?” He didn’t want Jon coming to him for help.

He continued. “No, its from your team. Martin and Tim have both approached me. Apparently, you’ve been spying on them.”

Jon sputtered, denying Tim’s claims at his supposed espionage.

Elias interrupted his excuses. “What matters is that your team thinks it could be true. Look, I know finding Gertrude’s body hit you hard, and I understand, but you need to leave this alone.” Elias watched Jon’s face as he spoke. His eyes had tightened at the corners. Almost as if he was squinting. Trying to find a way past yet another barrier. He wouldn’t leave it alone.

“Fine,” Jon said, trying to look defeated. “Is that all?”

“Yes.”

Elias watched Jon skulk back downstairs. In the archives, he set up his second tape recorder and Elias heard his own voice for the third time. After their conversation had been taped back, Jon made his conclusions.

“I need to be more careful about the others noticing my investigations. Especially if I have further cause to watch their homes.” Elias smiled. Good on him.

“More importantly though, I think Elias just moved to the top of my suspect list. I wonder what he’s hiding. End supplement.”

Elias dropped his head into his hands. What.

Jon was going to get hurt soon if he kept up this inane way of thinking.

* * *

MAG 51.

Jon sat hunched over his desk, describing a diving trip into the tape recorder. The steam from a fresh cup of tea leaked onto the surrounding papers. A bang filtered through the still air as Martin dropped a stapler in the adjacent room – Jon didn’t notice. He looked as if he were in a trance.

His eyes read the words in front of him and his mouth moved with them, but otherwise he was totally still. Elias had never been religious, but this was what he imagined prayer must look like. Had Jon gone somewhere? No, he couldn’t have; he hadn’t advanced enough to walk the other world. But he was somehow less present.

The thing beside Elias did the equivalent of clearing its throat.

Everything seemed to slow. Elias turned in agonizing time, the years of absence weighing down his movement.

The Archivist stood to his left.

Elias’ entire body ached with relief and joy. Then with pain. The Overseer surged towards the Archivist, trying to merge with it like they had used to do. It was all Elias could do not to scream. It pulled at him, threaded through his body as it was, so every muscle, every nerve was being wrenched towards it. His sternum threatened to peel outwards, opening his ribcage once again.

Elias whimpered and stumbled forward under the force of their want. A pressure held him up. The Archivist had placed its arm in the centre of his chest, keeping his bones in place. As he looked up at the Archivist, he felt a copy of his pain enter the bloodstream of the institute. It looked at Elias, then through Elias, at the Overseer. It trembled. Nausea coated Elias’ throat. He stood between them – only his flimsy layer of skin separated the two idols. His flesh against millennia of companionship. The self-loathing that coated Elias was so intense that his skin tried to peel free from his body. Or maybe that was the Overseer, trying one last time before giving up on completeness. Or maybe that was Elias, wishing for it.

The Archivist drew its arm back and turned to face Jon once more. The diver was still in the water and Jon was still reading. The two beings stood, side by side, watching the archivist. If Elias pressed as close to the Archivist as he could, the Archivist didn’t mention it. It was busy pulling Jon’s words from his mouth.

Jon finished the account and checked his notes.

“We weren’t able to glean sufficient information to track down any of those mentioned in the statement, aside from Captain Morten Kemp, who now runs boat tours near Winnipeg and declined to comment on it in the strongest possible terms. Instead I will focus on Simon Fairchild.”

The Archivist twitched beside Elias. It had plucked a string of data from the air and was pushing it toward Jon. Jon’s eyes went glassy over his notes.

“I may have encountered Fairchild before. One of my first cases as a researcher was looking into the history of a jewelers in Hackney that had reported cases cracked in the night.”

Jon recounted how the jewelers had once belonged to a con artist who had vanished out of a fourth-floor window, never to hit the ground. One of the conman’s aliases was Fairchild, Jon remarked. The Archivist neatly snipped off the line of information. Jon shook his head and looked back at his notes, continuing.

“A cursory bit of research reveals the Fairchilds in question to be an exceptionally wealthy family based down in Cornwall. No real business to speak of, but it appears that they’ve invested very wisely in aerospace technology, shipping logistics, and underwater construction. Whatever their origin, I feel it's worth keeping an eye on them.”

A wealthy family with an interest in shipping? Perhaps Peter had some connection to this Simon Fairchild. He would need to talk to him.

“Supplemental.”

Jon recounted his visit to Artefact Storage, to acquaint himself with the new arrivals. The Archivist shifted proudly, and Elias got the impression it had led Jon there itself. As Jon talked through the new acquisitions, the Archivist jabbed Elias in his side. The item in question was a rock eye, kept in a black velvet bag that… Oh. It interfered with video footage. Now that was very helpful. Elias nodded.

Jon had also run into Sasha, staring at the webbed table. He reached into his drawer and pulled out his second tape recorder. After feeding their conversation to the new tape, he continued.

“Odd but not alarming, though I think I may discuss restricting her access to the table with Elias. And I found out where she’s been going when she takes extra long lunch breaks. Every few days she travels up to Baker’s street to spend anywhere from ten minutes to a full hour in Madame Tussaud’s wax museum.”

Look at all the useful things Elias learned when he listened.

* * *

The next afternoon Elias went to collect the eye from Artefact Storage.

Entering Artefact Storage was always like opening a crypt. The dry air pricked at Elias’ skin immediately as he stepped inside and shut the heavy door. Silence enveloped the items on the shelves and floor, cloaking each in uneasy rest. The velvet bag sat on the top shelf at the back of the room. The stone eye rolled under the cloth as he picked it up. Elias chose to walk down a different aisle on his way out, briefly examining the items. He always tried to keep his eyes to himself in this room, as some of the more volatile pieces reacted badly to scrutiny.

Elias wouldn’t have noticed Sasha if he had not chosen this path. She was stood in front of the webbed table, totally still. Despite her scowl, her eyes were vacant. The vessel was angry but the mind was gone.

Elias stopped when he saw her. Warnings nudged his mind, detailing which items in his vicinity would combust if he wasn’t careful. He ignored them and looked at her. Fully looked. It took some time, but Sasha gave way under his eyes like porcelain under pressure. From beneath the shattered image, her true form glitched and folded upwards, stretching towards the ceiling on many jointed legs. It hung there, shuddering, pinned between the trap and the piercing.

Ultimately it was the smell of burning hair drifting from a rolled manuscript that forced Elias to let up. Sasha crumpled back down, rearranging her descent so she was facing Elias.

They stared at each other. Finally, Elias smiled.

“Can’t find the way out?”

Sasha’s eyes burned.

Elias left the room alone. He didn’t think he would be restricting her access.

* * *

The eye swiveled subtly in the soft folds of the velvet bag, searching for a stream of data to feed on. With a deep breath, Elias loosened the string.

It rolled out of the bag eagerly and sat, spinning, on the dark wood of Elias’ desk. Its pupil settled on the CCTV camera at the end of Elias’ hallway. He followed its gaze.

In the camera’s eye, the hallway stretching away from it swam with blotches, blocking a large portion of the image. Every minute or so the image glitched, too fast to be able to make out the change. Elias knew that, in that split second, the blotches blinked. Elias pressed his lips together. This wasn’t quite what he was hoping for. Not only was the change to the footage completely obvious, it didn’t obscure the view as much as he hoped.

He should have expected this level of bluntness from such a primitive object, though. It served his god almost blindly – it didn’t have the ability to play the long game. To learn, sometimes the truth must be obscured. Sometimes it must be taken.

With these thoughts, Elias plunged himself after the stone’s hold. It gripped the camera’s feed, splicing its own image into it. Elias took hold of the same place as the rock and covered the eye in velvet again. Its grip vanished and only Elias was left on the camera’s pathway. He choked the stream more and the image dissolved into static. He loosened his grip and the hallway faded into view.

He had managed to mar the CCTV footage of Gertrude’s murder with this method. Large stretches of the copy he had handed over to the police were eaten by static, unusable. Manipulating video would be a very useful skill if he could master it.

Static was an obvious giveaway to interference. He wasn’t doing a better job than that rock. He needed to somehow insert a replacement image. The rock had inserted itself, so Elias might as well try the same. He imagined watching his door opening, him walking down the hallway. He fed the camera his perspective.

The camera watched Elias’ office door open. It saw him walk out. The Elias in the lens was slightly taller than normal and was wearing his favourite shirt. Elias took five steps down the hallway. Without warning he glitched and bent double. When he straightened, his hair had darkened and come undone, his shirt was loose around his shoulders. He took a step, then another. Jon walked the rest of the hallway and turned out of sight.

Elias blew out a breath, still at his desk. He released the camera – he would deal with that footage later. He was disappointed, but that was expected. First attempts were unsuccessful in any case.

* * *

MAG 54.

Elias was just wrapping up his work for the night when he heard glass shatter. It was muffled, delayed, like the sound was taking its time squeezing through a small crack in his wall. Elias quickly skimmed his most important channels. No one in the archives and nothing amiss in the institute, although Greta had cut her thumb on her desk. Nothing amiss outside the institute’s doors. The jewellery store was dark and undisturbed, and Peter’s ship was on calm seas.

Elias paused. He did not remember adding the Tundra to his frequently visited sources. As he considered this, Peter emerged from his cabin and looked towards the setting sun. His hair was too long. The breeze whipped up his coat and ran through the grey strands. He smiled knowingly over his shoulder. Elias quickly turned away and busied himself with finding the source of the breaking glass.

Finally, he found it. If was a withered, blackened vein, dusty with disuse. Gertrude’s flat. Alarm throbbed within his skin. He cut the vein open and once again looked through the lens of the security camera mounted across her street. Someone was moving around just inside her broken window. It almost didn’t seem unreasonable to dread that she had come back to life.

The intruder’s torch beam passed over the room, illuminating her bare walls. It began moving towards her living space. Gertrude’s flat had a single step separating her living room from the rest of the house. Elias waited.

A thud came from inside the apartment, then a crash. The torch fell to the floor. A familiar voice cursed as the figure picked itself up off the floor. Elias blinked in surprise. Jon?

Now the figure was unmistakable in its hunched shoulders. Jon moved around cautiously, exploring the flat. The broken window glimmered in the streetlamp’s light. It was a little too late for caution.

After some time, Jon appeared at the window again. Elias watched as he gingerly climbed through the window. He hoped Jon wouldn’t cut himself, as it would make this job way more difficult. It didn’t look like he did, and with one parting glance at the apartment, Jon quickly walked away down the street. Elias sighed. He couldn’t expect Jon to know that there were two security cameras pointed at that building. It was, in fairness, his job to look after him. Jon had collected his data and now Elias had to act.

Elias let himself drift alongside the bytes flowing from the camera to the storage unit. He grabbed the memories of that machine and twisted. It gave easily. Elias saw the information changing – where he had tied the tourniquet, the feed cut off into static. But this wasn’t enough – the rock still lay outside Gertrude’s flat along with her half her window. A bit of static wouldn’t dissuade investigation.

The cloud of data sharpened in his mind. The minute after Jon threw the rock was at its forefront. Carefully, Elias excised those images and spliced in another stream. Across the city, three boys had thrown a baseball too hard, shattering the glass of their neighbour’s house. They ran. Elias fed them into the memory bank like a paper ticket. When he had finished, the shattered glass of Gertrude’s flat was just another accident, the boys fleeing as soon as the rock hit the window. Elias doubted there would be an investigation on a stray rock.

Satisfied, Elias left Gertrude’s flat for what he hoped was the last time. This had given him an idea on how to calm his archivist down.

* * *

MAG 60.

The three staff sat in silence around the table.

Tim was almost sliding off his chair, huddled in a big hoodie. Sasha sat still, carefully not looking at Elias. Elias sat still, watching Jon and Martin walk up the stairs to the meeting room.

Jon was almost smiling at Martin’s account of yesterday’s coffee machine malfunction as they walked into the room. A smile that quickly disappeared as he saw the three people sat around the table. He stopped in the doorway. Martin took a seat beside Tim.

Jon’s eyes flicked between the four of them.

“Please, sit down,” Elias motioned to the chair across him.

The archivist moved warily around it and sat down. “What’s this about.”

“I thought it was time for a team meeting,” Elias said.

Jon immediately produced a tape recorder and switched it on.

“You don’t mind if I record this, I trust?”

“That’s kind of one of the things we wanted to talk about,” Tim said and struggled to sit up.

Martin took a deep breath. “This is an intervention.”

Jon immediately pushed his chair back. “Excuse me.”

He was already halfway out of his seat when Elias interrupted with, “If you’d rather it was an official disciplinary hearing, Jon, we can arrange it.”

Jon evidently remembered that Elias was his boss and begrudgingly sank back down into his chair. “Fine. Say your piece.”

“We care about you, Jon. And you’ve been rather erratic since the Prentiss incident.” As Sasha spoke, Jon seemed to draw away from her. Good. Maybe he’ll pick up on the imposter sooner rather than later.

As the conversation progressed, the blame piled high and the archivist grew more and more stubborn. Elias hadn’t expected Jon to adjust his behavior based on words alone. Didn’t want him to.

The pointless back and forth had gone on long enough.

“Here.” Elias slid a USB drive across the table. Jon looked at it skeptically.

“And this is?”

“A copy of all the CCTV from the week Gertrude disappeared. The police finally finished cleaning it up and examining it and returned a copy.” Elias had spent the last week touching and retouching that footage. He had erased his own movements and added in some scenes of Gertrude exiting the archives at odd hours. He was rather proud of it.

“And you think this gives everyone an alibi?” Jon looked closely at the air around Elias.

“The police certainly do, but feel free to check it yourself.” Elias wondered if Jon would catch his beginner’s mistakes. There had to be something he had missed – the footage was many hours long. He was almost excited to see if he did.

Jon snatched the drive off the table. “Thank you.” He held it close to his chest. “I will.”

Everyone had relaxed around the table. The Stranger could not resist hammering the nail home, though.

“And let’s not have any more of this paranoia,” Sasha said. Jon nodded tersely and left the room quickly.

The rest of the assistants filed out. Martin almost turned to say something to Elias, then thought better of it and left after Tim.

Elias stared after them. He hadn’t been able to change Sasha in the video. Something kept her rooted in place – something more capable at record manipulation than he was. He didn’t remember what she looked like originally. Even if he had, he wouldn’t have changed her back for Jon.

* * *

MAG 61.

A torrent of novel information suddenly flooded Elias’ head. He reflexively latched onto it, drinking in the sound of rain on the van roof and the wailing that accompanied it. He saw the coffin opening and Tonner’s partner disappearing into it so vividly, it was all he could do not to step into the coffin with him.

Jon’s surprised voice ended the account.

“Right! Thank you! Um, are you quite alright?”

Tonner’s voice was winded. “No. I don’t tell that story to anyone.”

Jon stammered. He tried to ask after Basira, but Tonner interrupted him. She was definitely not willing to share any more information. But Jon was never one to leave well enough alone.

“Do you know anything about vampires?”

Elias’ eyes widened.

Gertrude’s compelling had been the only kind thing about her. She had talked people into it, calming them into truth like wild horses.

Jon, on the other hand, had reached into Tonner and broken the exact bit of mind that was holding the information back. She unravelled before him, her secrets spooling directly onto the tape. Into their god. Elias watched, enraptured, as this brand-new information was instantly absorbed by the Eye.

Tonner left the institute unnerved. And the Archivist stepped out from behind the desk, laughing.

* * *

MAG 72.

“Elias!” Peter’s tinny voice came from the receiver. “Just the bureaucrat who wanted to see!”

“Hmph. How long were you rehearsing that one?” asked Elias dryly.

“Oh, nonstop since I drilled that camera to my ship. Do you like it?” Elias could hear Peter’s shit-eating grin from this side of the world.

“Yes, it was very considerate of you. You know how much I love watching shipping containers dry.”

Peter laughed. “You don’t leave the institute, so I thought you’d appreciate seeing the world for once. Anyways, what can I do for you?”

Elias bit back a retort about how he wouldn’t look at Peter’s dinghy if he wanted to see the world. He knew Peter would jump at the opportunity to remind him of all the times Elias’ gaze had strayed there.

“Have you been in contact with the Fairchilds?”

He might have sounded more accusatory than he had planned to, because Peter whistled away from the phone. “Now, how did you know about that? I thought we were very careful!” There was a pause at the end of the line. Peter came back on. “You truly are a piece of work.” His tone had changed.

Elias chose his next words very carefully. “I’m sorry, Peter, but you know how this works. I have to act on the information I am given.” Elias had roughly zero idea what the conversation was about.

It seemed he had avoided a mine, as Peter’s voice softened a fraction. “I suppose I can’t really blame you. It's just eerie to have your Eye aimed at me.” Elias almost brought up Peter’s isolation trick at their first meeting but thought better of it.

Peter continued to speak. “Simon and I have been in contact.” Peter paused. “I really wish I could talk with you in person about this.”

“I can assure you this is secure. I can and have blocked all taps to this line.” Elias ignored the slight tug in his chest at Peter’s words.

“I had no doubts about that part. Fine. Anyways, we just haven’t been very impressed with Rayner’s decisions lately. He’s stuck in his ways, and the Dark’s business end is suffering. You know how I am about being adaptable. It’s getting less and less profitable for us to support his operations are they are.”

Elias’ thoughts raced. The possibility of replacing Forever Blind in their trio was very attractive. If he spun this correctly, the institute would have two very powerful (and affluent) allies.

He couldn’t stay silent any longer. “Rayner is old.”

“I mean, so are yo—”

“Not what I meant.” Elias quelled his irritation. “I was saying that Maxwell Rayner is a very hard man to kill. But. He is currently very old.” He placed emphasis on the last three words.

Peter reacted swiftly to people, but when the subject was objective fact, Peter thought like a glacier; moving slowly to the most obvious conclusion. Elias decided to help him out.

“Would you happen to know where he is?”

“You didn’t hear this from me, but a little seagull told me that Rayner is holding down a warehouse in Harringay.”

“Hm. Just a second.” If the state of things were as he suspected, Rayner would be looking for a new host. The phone line crackled as Elias scanned the missing persons reports in the national registry. Within the past three weeks, three children had gone missing. All were taken from their homes – no sign of forced entry, but neighbours reported the presence of cloaked figures. The first two had been found and returned to their families – the last, a boy named Callum Brodie, was still missing.

While he was searching, he had also located Peter. The captain was sitting by a window in a study, looking out into the moors. A small smile played on his lips as he listened to the line crackling.

“I suspect he’s going to try to transfer to 12-year-old Callum Brodie. He’s been missing for three weeks now.”

Peter scrunched his nose. “Why is it always little boys. It got weird after the first time.”

“Agreed.” But he couldn’t let Peter get distracted.

“So. Peter. Do you think a change of leadership is in order?”

The other side of the line was silent.

“Let me put it this way,” Elias pressed. “I very much do not like Maxwell Rayner. I think I will try to have him killed. It won’t raise any eyebrows if the Eye intervenes, given our record. You won’t be suspected. I get what I want, and once the dust settles, you’ll have a good chance to negotiate something favourable with his replacement. Everyone wins.”

Peter had sunk down further in his chair. His voice was huskier than before when he spoke.

“Well.” He cleared his throat. “Well, that certainly sounds like a good course of action. You’re welcome for the information,” he added.

“Yes. We’ll discuss repayment once this is finished.”

“Repayment?” Peter sounded indignant. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re about to destroy one of my more profitable partnerships!”

“Then we’ll discuss possible collaborations between us.” Elias lowered his voice. “I’m sure that’ll be worth your time.”

Peter hummed, pleased. “What would you do without me.”

Rolling his eyes, Elias said, “I’m like a ship lost at sea.” He waited exactly one second before following up with, “Because you’re about as flashy as a lighthouse. Why are you wearing sequinned slippers.”

“Hey! They’re my favourite!” Peter wriggled his toes and the slippers caught the sun, sending the morning light bouncing across the room.

Elias ended up modifying some video footage of the warehouse and sending it to the police, along with Rayner’s name. He made sure to exaggerate the cult member’s shadows to unnatural proportions, so it would be obvious to the viewer that they were not dealing with a normal kidnapping case.

Hussain would be called in. Elias hoped she had enough sense to consult the institute before she went in.

He had bigger things to worry about.

He watched the trapdoor through the grainy eye of the camera Jon set up. Sasha entered and left twice. Then, in the early hours of the morning, the floor began to warp. Elias sat up, attentive. Through the floor stepped a man. He didn’t look like anything special but that hardly meant anything. The man rifled through the shelves and grabbed some statements, then retreated back the way he came, folding the floor into place behind him.

That isn’t what Elias had expected.

It was interesting that the man didn’t take any precautions when entering the archives. This behavior presented two options: either the man was powerful enough to guarantee his safety, or he thought that no one was watching. Judging by his 3 am entrance, Elias suspected it wasn’t the first option. But the second just wasn’t reasonable. He knew he was under the Magnus Institute – he had grabbed statements with purpose.

If he had been helping Gertrude, she would have shielded him from the Eye. He must have depended on her for it. So he had gotten lax. Elias just needed him to slip up one more time.

* * *

MAG 73.

Jon paced the hallways like a caged animal. Hussain had quit the police force and left Jon high and dry. He was more snappy than usual and the assistants had learned to leave his office door closed. He wasn’t taking the absence of new recordings well. It was probably good that Jon was feeling the withdrawal, but Elias nonetheless made a note to reschedule his planned meeting with the man.

No such luck. Jon had gotten tired of keeping his irritation to himself and was coming up to his office to cause problems on purpose. Elias’ door opened and Jon strode in. Elias didn’t glance up from his papers.

“Are you sure you can’t make an appointment? I’m quite busy.”

“No. We ran out of staples.”

“Take that up with Rosie.”

“And here.” A USB landed on Elias’ desk. “Thanks for the footage.”

At this, Elias spared a glance at the archivist.

“What’s the verdict?” Elias asked.

Jon chewed on his cheek a moment. “I don’t like it.”

Elias stayed silent. Jon shifted under his gaze, then finally elaborated. “I mean, it would’ve been easier if it showed someone killing Gertrude.”

“Unlucky again?”

Jon was calming down, his restless energy disappearing as the two spoke. In the absence of new information, Elias always felt it best to review.

“I can’t decide if it’s a relief or not. Things are never simple around here.”

Elias hummed in agreement. “Very true. I believe I have a form around here somewhere that requires janitorial costs five years into the future.”

“Ugh.” Jon scrunched up his nose. “Never mind us, it must have looked like the end of the world for you, having to use more money than you planned for to clean up the worms and all.” Jon subconsciously reached over and scratched at a silver scar on his wrist. Elias made a note to ask him about those later.

“It was quite devastating,” Elias agreed. “My reputation for perfect budgeting may never recover.”

Jon looked around Elias’ office. Elias looked back at Jon from the many eyes around his office.

“Speaking of things never being simple,” Jon said, “I just had a statement about Maxwell Rayner’s death.”

Elias arched an eyebrow and Jon elaborated. “Rayner was the leader of the Church of the Divine Host, prominent in the 70’s. His warehouse was raided yesterday where he was shot and killed.”

Elias checked off a box at the back of his head. He kept his expression neutral and replied, “Well that’s good news. Rayner was always concerning, more so when he disappeared a while back.”

Jon must have heard something in his voice, though, because instead of dropping the topic, he leaned in closer. Elias realized with a start that Jon was searching his eyes. They were a beautiful dark brown.

“Yes, it's nice to have a conclusion to the story, but I found the timing interesting. Why now?” Jon dropped his voice like he did on the tapes. “Who called in the police, and why now?”

Elias stared evenly back, but his thoughts were racing. Was Jon trying to compel him? Was he even aware he could do that? Elias didn’t feel the tug of the question, so he assumed not, but he still couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Elias was so busy looking for the compulsion he didn’t realize that Jon wasn’t asking. Jon was taking. Elias felt a part of him snap somewhere underneath his spine and Jon leaned back, sated. The Archivist materialized in Elias’ vision, standing just behind Jon. It was examining Elias.

“Maybe you could ask around? You seem to have connections to the police,” Elias offered distantly.

The Archivist followed Jon out of the office. Elias couldn’t understand what was happening. The Overseer’s veins were empty. It was holding something back; Elias was sure of it. The human Elias waved his arms wildly, demanding to know what had just transpired, but the Overseer remained placid underneath his skin.

* * *

MAG 80.

Elias kept half an eye on the chase. It was like something out of Scooby-Doo: Sasha chased Jon, Michael’s door deposited Jon into the tunnels, Martin and Tim were scooped into Michael’s hallways, Sasha followed Jon into the tunnels. Elias was sure it would have been very amusing if he had the mood for it. But the dying whine of the tape recorder in the Distortion’s tunnels was grating, and he was busy with his own problems.

He had been scouring his network for any mention of the Archivist biting off pieces of its colleagues. All he could find were the normal ideas of the Archivist feeding on statements and feeding the Eye. His other half stayed unhelpful. And besides, with this much activity in the tunnels, then whatever had been helping Gertrude would most certainly intervene in some way.

And intervene it did. A rumbling sound echoed through the institute as though the tunnels had shifted. Minutes later, Jon emerged from the trap door, dragging a piece of metal behind him. He was not alone.

Jon glared at the man with him until he sat down at his desk. The man looked around nervously, as though waiting for someone to appear and kill him. It wasn’t a bad thought, actually – Jon’s record of talking with the wrong people was staggering for its time span. Elias would bet anything that this man could give Jon all sorts of wrong knowledge.

Jon leaned the pipe against the table. “You want my help, you answer my questions. Agreed?” he hissed.

“Agreed,” said the old man resignedly. Elias frowned.

“Good.” Jon sat down. “Statement of Jurgen Leitner. February 16th, 2017. Statement begins.”

Elias’ eyes widened. Shit. Oh shit. Gertrude had been getting help from Leitner? Jon was about to get answers from Jurgen Leitner? This was past ‘not good’. Jurgen’s explanations might even scare Jon off entirely. His methods had always been so… impersonal.

But in spite of himself, Elias leaned into the information flowing out of the old man.

He had placed two books onto the table and was explaining how reading from them could change the tunnels and secret him away from the prying eyes of Jon’s master.

“My master?” Jon asked, confused. He shook his head slightly, interrupting his curiosity. “We’ll get to that. How long have you been down there?”

“Hard to say,” Leitner answered. “I’ve been in hiding for over twenty years now, ever since my library was destroyed.”

Yes, Elias remembered the sack of Leitner’s library. How it burned from within, simultaneously crumpling inwards and exploding into pieces. He remembered how the loss had hurt. The books curled and blackened then turned to ash. The shelves collapsed, and the building smelled of fire and oil from the burning bodies.

Only that wasn’t right. Elias hadn’t been at Leitner’s library. But he did remember a burning. The memories flowed smoothly. The cloaked ones had descended upon the Library of Alexandria in the night. The Eye saw them too late – the blanket of darkness lifted only at the gates, and it was preoccupied with the ceremony happening in the library’s main chamber.

They poured into the library, coating everything in a dark, impenetrable oil. It coated the books, ink indecipherable against the black. The knowledge ceased, and the Ceaseless Watcher was blind. It cried out, a sound so horrible the building shook, and the ceiling collapsed.

It collapsed prematurely. They were not ready. The Archivist was spit into the black sky like an early birth, weak and aimless. The Eye was not there to catch it. It hung in the night, sun-like. Its golden light, though sputtering, rivaled the flames beneath it.

The fires had been thrown through the windows and quickly took to the oil-covered books. Pages blackened and curled. Soon, the building was aflame, and the Archivist fell.

If fell down to earth like an angel to hell, the fires wreathing its descent. It cried out in helplessness before hitting the ground. Its life burned around it as it lay in the crater left by its fall. Darkness oozed into the crater and clung to the Archivist, smothering its golden light. The Eye had collapsed, removing itself from this world to prevent its complete death. The Archivist was alone. It watched in excruciating detail as its home burned. Glass shards coruscated around it, reflecting the devastation surrounding it. The Archivist watched its failure a thousand times, then a thousand more.

Weakly, it reached for help, for an end, for something, anything. Its hand only found glass. It raised the shard and within it found reflected its eyes, covered in black. Grief made it plunge the shard into its chest. The blow excised a single eye, which rolled out of its socket and sat next to the body, pooling in dark liquid. Someone else to behold the carnage. The eye blinked, and a thin tendril uncoiled from it, twitching, as if tasting the air.

Elias gasped and bolted upright, resurfacing from the ancient memories. The Overseer was a stone inside him, serene. Elias just about screamed. He was the Archivist – a part summoned out of powerlessness and desperation.

Elias got up from his chair and stumbled across the office. The fire – the dark. Killed his library. Birthed him. If he was the Archivist, the Archivist could take him back any moment. Elias imagined succumbing and his human half yelled itself hoarse. Had this been his destiny all along? Could he run? Had the Eye known, had the Eye chosen him like he had chosen the assistants – pawns with no connection, just things to be fed to power? Did it love him? Did it matter?

“I have also heard it called Beholding.”

Distantly, Elias remembered the men in the archives. No. Leitner will not be telling any of this to Jon.

Elias stumbled down the hallways. The Overseer was trying to get his attention, but Elias’ mind was a devastated library and words ran together like ink. Gertrude was going to steal the Overseer. Jon would eat books and see fire. He would fail and they would be forever as one. Nothing would end and nothing would change except Elias would disintegrate under the pressure of purpose.

He was in the archives.

“Well. This is a surprise,” Elias hung on the door and smiled wildly at the scared man. He was going to set Jon against the institute.

“Reach for a book and I will kill you.” Leitner retracted his hand. Elias was made to act.

“How much have you told him?” Does he know he can eat me? Does he know he made me?

“No, no I didn’t have time,” Leitner stuttered.

Elias was out of his mind. His mouth moved for him, uttering sentences in what he hoped was English.

Leitner begged. “Elias, please!”

“What did you want from him?” Elias stumbled across the room.

“The files. The ones you took from Gertrude.”

His hand found the metal pipe leaned against the desk. He clutched it. “Planning a little arson, are we, Jurgen?” The library burned. The shelves around them burned. Leitner burned and the desk burned and Elias burned.

Leitner fearfully regarded Elias’ white-knuckled grip on the pipe hanging beside him. “What’s he going to think when he gets back?” he tried to save himself one last time.

Elias almost laughed. He wouldn’t have stopped if he did. “He was always going to need to fly the nest at some point. Go out and see the world for himself.” He wanted Jon to leave and not come back. He wanted to live.

“He might die.”

Jurgen flinched as Elias’ eyes burned and rolled in their sockets. He wouldn’t. Or should. Jon should, Elias would. Jon couldn’t die but Elias could. Elias didn’t want to die. Jon couldn’t die.

“It's always a danger.” Elias will die to repay the Archivist. “Almost always.”

The metal pipe connected with Leitner’s skull with a hollow ring. Elias struck Leitner, again and again. Under his blows, the man’s face took on Jon’s features. The human Elias raged at Jon, at the Archivist, at himself for walking onto the butcher’s table. The human Elias struck at Jon again and again. He took his fury, his fear out on the bloody mass of tissue and bone that had once been the wrong librarian. He hadn’t chosen this.

Elias stood in a growing pool of blood leaking from the librarian’s head. Red, not black. No books were being covered in it; no fires were burning. Jon’s features were gone – they’d never been there. He absently wiped the pipe on his handkerchief before dropping it to the floor. Haltingly, Elias untied his shoes and stepped out of them onto clean floor. He shook the shoes dry of blood, then exited the archives. He estimated he had about ten minutes before he was called upon to act once more.

Elias was sat on the floor of his office with his back against the door when Jon returned from – returned from a smoke break, the webbed lighter in his hands. If Elias hadn’t reached a state of numbness he would have screamed – a clear sign that Jon could return back to his previous states, Elias remembered thinking when Jon first got that thing. It read as a direct threat, now.

The rock eye spun beside him, free of its velvet bag. He would deal with the footage later, when he had collected himself.

Jon had taken three stumbling steps out of the archives. His eyes fluttered, overwhelmed by the gore. Elias couldn’t let Jon pass out. He needed to flee. Elias would make sure he was the prime suspect – it was the least dangerous route for the archivist at this time.

Jon collapsed against the wall opposite the door. Wearily, Elias snaked his consciousness down the hallways and stairs. He pooled around Jon like the blood visible from the doorway. The pool was dark. Jon was unresponsive, his breathing shallow. His eyes ran under their eyelids.

Elias gave away the right to call himself human. He fed it into Jon. He pushed fragments under his skin and Jon stirred. Run, Jon. His pool didn’t decrease, and Elias wondered how powerful he was. He pushed more energy into Jon, and Jon opened his eyes. Elias collected himself up. He watched Jon’s retreating back as he ran from the institute.

Elias supposed he had finally died. He resumed his seat at his desk and waited to be called to action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic was actually kicked off by two questions:  
> 1\. how did some paper pusher manage to beat an old man to death?  
> 2\. what was the conversation in MAG127 about??  
> \+ how jon & elias have a weirdly good-natured rapport, for the circumstances
> 
> tell me to get out, and stay out! @laymanterms.tumblr.com


	5. The Archivist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Act II.  
> In which Elias' eyes wander.

MAG 82.

Detective Tonner reclined behind the archivist’s desk.

“Sit,” she commanded as he entered the room. Despite the powerful smell of bleach, a dark stain could still be seen in the wood directly below her.

Elias was going to enjoy this.

“So, what can I do to help? You want my account? My sworn testimony?” Elias smiled at her. “My statement?”

“What is - no. Just a couple of questions. I don’t suppose you know how to turn this off?” Tonner glared suspiciously at the tape recorder on the desk.

Elias waved his hand. “Oh, leave it running. I’m sure Jon will want to review the tapes when he gets back.”

Tonner looked at him carefully. “So you don’t think he did it?”

Elias shot her a skeptical look. “Killed a man in cold blood? Certainly not. He doesn’t have the stomach for it.”

Jon couldn’t even knock on the door he had been standing in front of for ten minutes already. Desperation had driven him to at old friend, Elias assumed. He had run out of money for hotels, so there he was, trying to summon the courage to knock on a door.

Tonner leaned back. “People can surprise you.”

“In Jon’s case, I rather hope so.” The man in question had started to walk away from the apartment for the third time.

“You want him to be a murderer?” Tonner was looking more and more unsettled with Elias.

Elias, for his part, was getting sick of being asked questions. He would only tolerate questions from one person sitting behind that desk, and barely at that. He switched tracks.

“Have you had any luck identifying the body?”

Tonner sighed. “The victim isn’t someone we have on file. Doesn’t match any missing persons. Still a John Doe.”

Jon had finally knocked on the door, and a tall woman had opened it. She looked at Jon in surprise for a moment before tipping her glass of water directly on his shoes. Elias could help but laugh out loud. Jon just seemed resigned, accepting his wet socks quietly. He never seemed to realize his effect on people.

Tonner bristled. “I say something funny?”

“Nothing. Just remembering an old joke,” Elias replied, still smiling. The two exchanged some words and Jon was invited inside. Good. Jon had a place to stay, if he managed not to aggravate the woman further.

“Right. So. Do you know anything about the current whereabouts of Jonathan Sims? Anywhere he might be staying? Any friends he might have contacted?”

“I do,” Elias said, primly. “I know exactly where he is and who is with him. But I don’t think I’m going to tell you.”

“I can drag this down to the station if you want, you weird little freak. Maybe Sims didn’t do this alone.” Tonner was poised, leaning forward. Her nostrils flared as if catching a scent.

Elias remained relaxed, showing no fear under her predator’s gaze. “No, you’re not going to do that, Detective. Because of Calvin Benchley.”

A sharp intake of breath. “What?”

“Calvin Benchley. You recognise the name, don’t you Alice? You see, I know what you did.” Now it was Elias’ turn to grin and lean forward.

Tonner turned pale, leaned back and away. The false face had retracted like curtains, revealing teeth. “I… don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No? The scar may have faded, but you haven’t forgotten.” Tonner stayed silent.

Elias continued. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to make a statement. Your statement. To prove to you what I know, and because I want Jon to hear it someday. And when it’s over, you are going to leave. If you’re smart, you’ll go back to the police station and put forward some half-baked cover-up for what happened to your mystery corpse and leave it at that. But I don’t think you are smart, so in many ways I’m excited to find out what you do next.”

Elias didn’t even try to smile, this time. He just bared his canines and said, “Statement of Alice Tonner, regarding the crimes and death of Calvin Benchley. Statement never given.”

Tonner’s story was violent but uncharacteristically long. She had potential as a hunter – she had made it this far with only several scars to show for it. However, Elias doubted she was as smart as her story made her out to be as her current casework was a mess. She had caught Jon’s scent and was single-mindedly hunting him down. Her partner, Hussain, was clearly the rational one between them. Still, that could be overlooked. She didn’t need to think to follow orders, and Elias could use a killer. Jon certainly wasn’t going to be one.

Elias finished the statement. Tonner looked almost queasy under the torrent of old memories. She pushed back her chair and stormed to the door, only looking back to say, “One day, someone is going to kill you. I really hope it’s me.” The door slammed behind her.

Elias stayed seated. No, he didn’t think he’d do her the favour. “Good day, Detective.”

Across the city, Jon was drinking a cup of tea.

* * *

The cardboard box landed heavily on Elias’ desk.

He stared at it, hands on his hips, mind elsewhere.

Despite his infinitely more nervous nature, Jon was definitely more hands-on than Gertrude had been. He had lived through the worst alongside his assistants, after all. Now free from the familiarity and relative safety of the archives, Elias almost suspected that Jon would come into his own version of the role. He watched as the archivist scrubbed at Barker’s kitchen counters. Elias was sure his archivist wouldn’t abandon them, but in the meantime, there were a lot of things to take care of which Elias had been putting off. He shook himself and reached for the box.

Gertrude hadn’t properly archived the tapes Elias had recovered from the tunnels, so her research was all novel. Elias was set upon with a mania that didn’t let him stop listening, didn’t let up until the box was empty and Elias was nothing but his pen and Gertrude’s voice, unravelling the Stranger.

It wasn’t enough. Elias stalked down to the archives and rooted through Jon’s office until he found all the tapes Hussain had given him after she had quit the police. Martin peeked into the room, the fervent hope in his eyes sputtering out upon seeing Elias. Elias glowered at Martin until the man retreated, then collected the tapes and returned to his office to continue listening.

When the Eye finally released Elias, he was sitting in front of a mountain of scribbled notes in a pool of his own sweat. He had lost two days.

Despite his notes, he didn’t feel sated. Gertrude’s research was scattered and filled with her characteristic dodging of straight answers. No address thrice circled, giving him an easy location for the Unknowing. Furthermore, Leitner’s rummaging had left the statements in disarray, and Elias seriously doubted the relevance of several of them. But that call was best left to the professionals.

He mailed Jon a statement. It would take some time to get to his apartment, and Elias had no desire to repeat what transpired when Jon didn’t get his fix. It concerned the Stranger’s ringmaster – Jon needed to get a sense of how it operated, if he wanted to avert the Unknowing. Its strange stirrings were increasing – Breekon and Hope were getting a lot of business. And this archivist would need more guidance than his predecessor. And quite a bit of guidance from his predecessor, as well. Time grew shorter.

Speaking of predecessors, there was an irritation that needed to be agitated.

* * *

MAG 84.

Elias stood at the entrance to a closet, repeatedly opening and shutting the door. Open, close, open, close, open, close. The door’s accelerations were hypnotic, Elias’ arm almost moving on its own. Open, close. His eyes lowered, unfocused.

He may have fallen into a trance. Elias’ brain took too long to process the shoes he was suddenly staring at and the accompanying “Hell—”, so he just shut the door on both. He stared in bewilderment at the door for a couple of seconds before slowly opening it again. It no longer opened into a closet stacked with brooms. Instead, nauseating green walls stretched towards the horizon, lit by dim orange bulbs. His view was blocked by a churning whirlpool of unwilling skin.

Elias placed his foot firmly back down under him, finding he had already taken half a step into those corridors. He cleared his head of the spiralling influence, and when he looked back Michael had resolved itself into something closer to human. Its expression was faintly amused.

“Hello,” it tried again. Its form turned sideways paperthin, and Elias once again saw yellow corridors.

“Michael,” Elias replied, sizing it up. He had considered taking ibuprofen before attempting this meeting but hadn’t thought the chemicals would work on a dead man. He was regretting his decision already.

“There might be a use to becoming something like me,” it pondered, slowly spiralling inwards. “People pay attention to you. You never even looked at Michael Shelley in his years of serving you. And now you’ve called.”

“I have,” said Elias. He had taken a step forward sometime during Michael’s words. He forced himself back. “If we’re on the subject of Michael Shelley, I would like to ask a question.” Elias ignored the jittery laugh. “Will you be continuing your meddling with my archivist? He’s done nothing to you.”

Michael mirrored itself across its right ear, appearing left. “Nothing yet, heart. Although - I was rather hoping he would.”

“He’s not Gertrude.”

“No, I don’t think either of us would want that.” It had spiralled far into itself, now appearing as a lump of sharp skin. Elias was tilting his head, following its motion.

“Yes.” Elias straightened out of his turning. “But your obsession with him is pointless. He doesn’t even know who you are. He isn’t even afraid.”

Michael unfolded from its storm drain movements, again standing tall in the doorway. Its head sunk down. “He is,” it hissed. “He has been afraid and will be. And he is lost.” A pause dragged itself, squealing, across Elias’ mind. “Are you?”

Elias looked down to see his foot inside the corridor. Michael loomed around him, stretching from one periphery to the other. It was laughing. Elias’ hands gripped the doorway, holding him back from tumbling into the violet carpet. The institute’s connection to him was tenuous, maintained only through his fingertips.

“I do not want you in my hallways, heart. But I won’t help it.”

“No,” Elias mumbled. He forced his eyes out of his body, wrapping them as a halo around his head to replace Michael. He saw his own body straining to walk into the Distortion. He increased his glare at himself and found himself grounded. Simultaneously, he wound another, thicker ribbon around his torso, pointing outward. The hallways straightened imperceptibly.

“Stop,” it said simply. Elias stayed in the doorway. Far away, layers deep into the Distortion, something was moving. Elias’ eyes, unable to cut, sluggishly pushed aside the deceitful wallpaper and flesh. It was a woman. Elias remembered her statement to the archivist. She had liked Jon.

Elias shaped the spear of memory and threw it between the fast closing walls. She had liked Jon. She needed to remember.

“That’s enough.” Michael spat Elias out of itself. Elias liked to think he took the rejection gracefully. They stood across the hallway, each in turn surrounded by eyes and lies. Michael’s door swung inward.

“He’ll pay, and you won’t be able to do anything,” it promised. It was gone with a soft click.

Elias let out a breath. It was easy to feel in control in his office. Fieldwork was simply not his forte. But he had accomplished his goals. He had reminded Michael about its stupid fixation, and he had reminded Helen that she was separate from the Distortion. For now.

In Elias’ experience, it was usually useful to have someone thinking of you. Michael seemed set on interfering with the archivist – perhaps one of these days it would do something helpful.

Elias collapsed on the couch in his office as soon as he could to rest the chafed corners of his mind. If Elias could sleep, he would have dreamed about skin and muscles and training. He would have dreamed about comparisons and irritations. He would have dreamed about obsessions. He would have dreamed about lying to Jon.

But Elias didn’t sleep. He lay awake as his neurons repaired themselves and listened to the sounds of the tunnels shifting beneath him. Leitner had said he used the Seven Lamps of Architecture excessively… had that unbalanced the tunnels somehow? Elias could see further into those damp stone passages, could almost make out Sasha’s scrabbling. It took considerable effort to do so though, and all seemed static. So Elias just lay on the couch.

It was nice, actually, to go back to his roots like this. Slacking off on the job.

Elias didn’t get to rest long.

A small fury wandered in through the institute doors. Elias was not surprised when it cut a beeline to the archives. The footprints it left behind were slimy with rage. Elias had never seen the Slaughter up close and was surprised that Jon had. He assumed it was looking for Jon, at least. It had stopped in the archives.

Elias got to his feet. If it was after Jon, it would be polite to welcome it. He looked and saw a short woman agitatedly bouncing her bandaged leg in the chair opposite Martin. He started down the stairs.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Martin asked.

Her frustrated voice slithered up through the floorboards. “Yes, I just… God, I’m kind of at the end, you know? At the end of everything. Friends, clues, savings. Options.” As the woman spoke, the madness in her pulsed and her voice rose with it. “There’s nowhere left for me to go. I don’t know why, but… I just, I just felt that perhaps coming here might help.”

Oh, it will help, thought Elias. He had just learned that the woman was Melanie King, a ghosthunter recently returned from India. The bullet inside her leg was only just starting to take hold. She was in a unique position – a highly skilled researcher and producer with no ties to the outside world except for the violence feeding into her veins. Elias was sure Jon would appreciate a Slaughter-touched addition to the team. He smoothed out his shirt and stepped into the archives.

“A friend of yours?”

Martin was immediately on his feet, packing his papers away. “Oh s-she was actually just leaving. I think we were done.”

Melanie looked hurt by Martin’s sudden dismissal, but stood nonetheless.

Elias held up a hand. “One moment, miss…”

“King. Melanie King.”

Elias smiled. “Elias Bouchard, I run the institute. Martin has filled you in on recent events, I believe?”

“Not everything,” Martin said quickly.

“Then you are aware there is currently a vacancy for an archival assistant?” Elias addressed Melanie.

The two exchanged bewildered, and in Martin’s case alarmed, glances.

“Yes… Hang on, are you offering me a job?”

“You have some experience in the field. I think you’ll fit in nicely here.”

Martin interrupted her reply. “Melanie, I’m really not sure that you actually want to—”

That was enough out of him.

Elias found the many veins that Martin was drawing his warnings from, veins of fear and rejection and poor pay, and clamped down on them. They dried under his hand, and Martin stopped talking, looking lost.

“Problem, Martin?”

Martin stammered out that no, there was no problem.

“Good.” Elias released Martin’s mind and turned to Melanie. “Well, if you want to come up to my office, we’ll have a proper interview. Hopefully get all the paperwork signed.”

Melanie smiled hesitantly. “Lead the way.”

Its almost as if he was starting a collection.

* * *

MAG 90.

Okay. So maybe it was Jon who was starting the collection.

Elias quickly cordoned off his mind as Perry melted her hand around Jon’s. He knew how it felt to burn already. Jon was always too open – Elias could feel his stronger emotions with clarity, almost as if they were his own. The channels Jon’s experiences ran through connected to Elias too.

In the silence, Elias noted his chest was more full than normal – beating against his ribcage were fluttering wings – pride? He clamped them down.

Jon released his death grip on the edge of the table. Perry sat smug across him, waiting for him to pass out or cry. Jon did neither of those things. Elias could see that he didn’t want to look, didn’t want to see his charred flesh and cooked meat, but Jon couldn’t resist examining his hand, turning it over, sending the smoke still rising from it churning through the air.

He tried to flex it and Elias didn’t prepare for the hot pain that slid into his mind. He hissed, clenching his own hand at his desk and slamming his mind shut once more. Jon’s experience was potent, feeding into the Eye readily.

“Where is he,” Jon gritted out, shuddering.

Perry appraised him for a few seconds, then shrugged and answered.

“Has a house in the suburbs east of here. Painted blue. Has some sort of weird collection of weathervanes out front – stands out like a sore thumb. Or,” she grinned at the archivist, “like a sore hand?”

Jon’s face was unimpressed. “Suppose I deserved that.”

* * *

MAG 91.

The raw flesh of Jon’s hand hadn’t even begun to blister over when he lifted it to Michael Crew’s door. He reconsidered and used his other hand to knock. The blue house stood in the middle of a row of other identical suburban houses. The sky was empty.

Elias had never fallen before. He suspected he might even like it. Crew may have been right when he suggested the Eye and the Vast were close – Elias could almost see himself enjoying it, could almost see himself trying to make others enjoy it too. Like Simon Fairchild did.

It was a shame about Tonner. Crew had seemed like a reasonable man. He, at least, had his manners in check. Unlike Elias’ employees. Unlike what killed him.

“So what now? You kill us?”

Jon was taking this far too calmly. Elias guessed they were in the detective’s favourite killing spot. She had dragged her prey back to her den. Thankfully Hussain was smart enough to stake it out.

“You think he’s going to save you?” Tonner asked.

Interesting question. Did Jon think Elias had some offensive power?

Did Elias have any offensive powers?

A gunshot capped the recorder’s volume threshold. Now Jon was scared.

“Oh go—Please don’t shoot me.” Jon’s voice rose in panic. “Why are you doing this? Tell me!”

Aggravating the detective more was probably not the best course of action. Although, Elias appreciated the archivist’s loyalty to his nature despite the words ringing hollow and powerless. He heard the knife press its way into Jon’s throat.

Hussain’s voice finally reached the tape. Finally, someone rational. They would come for Elias soon.

Jon took the spade thrown at him and started to dig. He wasn’t making any headway into the packed soil, but Tonner probably just wanted to watch him do the work. Let him suffer a little.

Elias sympathized.

That didn’t stop him from calling the police and alerting them to Tonner’s whereabouts.

This letter had been in his office for quite some time – it had been one of his favourites from his assistant days. The simplicity in the flowery handwriting was commanding, and the old pages rustled smoothly under his hands. The circumstances outlined in the letter were such a pure way of describing the institute’s principles. He had been meaning to give it to Jon at some point, but since he had some time to spare, he began to read.

Jon had been doing well on his own. His inclination to experience was as mindless as a moth burning itself on a lantern – some instinctual part of him simply guided him towards the supernatural. Tugged him back into the web.

Elias frowned at the letter. The webs in the tunnels had not escaped his attention. They had gradually started to move up into the archives. Elias didn’t know what it meant, only that he didn’t like it.

He returned his attention to the letter in his hand. Jon needed to understand that he was the priority – he needed to use these people to his own ends.

“Jonah Magnus did leave him in that place, Jon. Because he had to know, to watch and see it all. That’s what this place is, Jon, never forget it. You may believe yourself to have friends, to have confidantes, but in the end, all they are is something for you to watch, to know, and ultimately to discard. This, at least, Gertrude understood.”

He had timed the statement correctly. Martin was running up the stairs.

“Let us begin.”

Martin burst into his office, announcing Jon’s return. He was followed closely by the rest of the coup d’état.

Tonner was first through the door. “Bouchard,” she snarled. Elias could smell her frustration at being denied a kill from across the room.

Hussain lightly touched her arm. “Easy.”

“Hello, Elias.”

Elias surveyed Jon. His shirt was soaked with sweat, his skin grimy with soil. Elias felt the phantom burn in his hand and the sting on his throat.

“Goodness, Jon. You look a mess,” Elias informed him flatly.

Jon just chuckled. “I’ve had a hell of a week.”

At least he had kept his dry humour. Elias glanced at Martin for a moment. “Martin, would you be so good as to fetch Melanie and Tim. I think it would be worth their time to be here.”

Martin uncertainly looked at the others, but nonetheless left to find the rest of the assistants. They waited until he was out of the room.

Elias folded his hands on the desk in front of him. “Now, you have something to ask me?”

Jon strode forward and the other two cleared the area around them like making space for a gladiator fight. Elias thought of it more as rearranging furniture to do some sweeping.

“Elias. Did you kill Gertrude Robinson and Leitner?”

Jon’s voice snaked up Elias’ spine and sat at the back of his head, humming. Long fingers stroked his skull, gently pulling the words to his tongue.

Elias was unsettled by the strength of his need to _give._ He managed to stifle the words but couldn’t stop the air from leaving his lungs. He couldn’t keep his eyelids from lowering. Jon’s cheeks darkened as he examined Elias’ reaction, but he managed not to look away. The two men shifted in their places, and as Jon did so Elias saw several eyes in his head which hadn’t been there previously.

The Archivist – Jon - could have at least tried to make it not as personal as he did.

Elias talked the compulsion off, offering empty words until the sensation faded.

“That’s… That’s quite nice, actually. Tingly… but sort of freeing.” He cleared his dry throat. “You know, even Gertrude never properly tried to compel me. I always wondered—”

Hussain interrupted him. “Just answer the question.”

Elias broke his stare with Jon to look at her.

“Oh, no need to worry about that. I just feel it’s only fair to wait for your colleagues. They’ll want to hear this too. It’s also very important to me, in a personal capacity, that you understand I’m answering you of my own free will.”

Jon was still blushing. “I don’t care!” he barked, but couldn’t look at Elias.

Elias decided to throw him a bone. “I know. But I do. There’s so much of this place, of ourselves, twisted by forces far beyond us. I just wanted you to know—”

He was once again interrupted by Martin. The three remaining archive staff filtered into the room. Tim took one look at the situation and groaned.

“Oh Christ, what is it now?”

“Elias here is about to confess his crimes,” Jon snarled.

Elias simply raised an eyebrow at Jon’s theatrics. A beat, then everyone spoke at once. Elias waited for them to quiet.

“Yes. For the avoidance of any doubt I killed Gertrude Robinson because she intended to destroy the archives. And I killed Jurgen Leitner because he was… an unnecessary complication. Likely to tell Jon too much, too early.”

Their shock was understandable, Elias supposed, but still. He may have overreacted in both cases, but was it so hard to believe a manager could get his hands dirty from time to time?

Once the noise had died down, Martin asked his question. Always the carer.

“And Sasha? Did you kill her too?”

Elias rescinded his previous thoughts. He was almost wounded Martin would think he just went around killing anyone he didn’t like.

Elias decided to field this one to Jon. He stared at the archivist expectantly, and Jon turned to Martin.

“Sasha died almost a year ago, Martin.”

As Jon explained what had happened to Sasha, Elias watched the police officers pull up to the institute. The distraction might have been why he answered when Jon asked, “What about Michael?” That, or the image of the Distortion looming over his archivist; Jon’s fast breaths, his pained questions.

“What about him?” Elias heard himself snap. His irritation surged. “An irritant. Interfering because he’s bored, and he resents us. He has no purpose—”

“Right, that’s enough for me. Everyone get back,” Tonner interrupted. Elias snapped his mouth shut. Jon had actually gotten to him. Thank god for the blunt edge of the hunt.

Tonner had drawn her gun and was trying to aim it at Elias. Jon stood between them, a deer in a wolf’s headlights. He didn’t move.

The standoff was broken by Elias’ phone. He tried his best evil chuckle. “Excuse me,” he said silkily, and answered it on speaker. Rosie’s voice echoed in the silent office.

“There are some police officers here to see you.” Tonner inhaled sharply.

Elias smiled. “Thank you, Rosie.” He looked back at the cop, leaning around Jon.

“That should make it easier for you. Right, detective? I know you were planning to kill me, but surely an arrest is a consolation prize?” Elias faked realization. “Oh, unless you don’t want to go back to the station?”

Tonner snarled. “I kill you, I go to jail. I’ll take that deal.”

“For someone who used to be a detective, you’re remarkably reluctant to think things through,” Elias sighed. Turning to the others, he said, “I’ve spent a while doing my research on the detective, and discovered she was quite the killer. I have let her supervisors know, and they want her brought in.” He turned back to Tonner.

“You think you’re the only police officer eager to do violence and call it justice? No, there are plenty of other rabid dogs out there, mad with the hunt. And some of them have signed a Section 31. There are plenty of others your superiors can call on to clean up this mess. Anyone close enough will be implicated.” He paused for emphasis. “They will kill Basira.”

Tonner’s despairing glance at Basira would’ve broken anyone’s heart, Elias was sure.

“But, maybe it was a false alarm?” Elias slid a piece of paper towards the former police. “A contract of employment. For Basira. Sign it, and I’ll send your ex-colleagues on their way.”

Basira didn’t even spare Tonner a glance as she walked forward to sign the contract.

“There.”

Another vein attached itself to the institute.

Elias clicked the button. “False alarm, Rosie. Please apologize to the officers for me.”

Melanie spoke. “Um, I mean, she still has a gun?”

Elias abruptly remembered why he didn’t like dealing with new hires. “Ah, of course. You’re all new. Basira is now tied to the institute. All of you are. Should I, or the institute, be destroyed, you will all, unfortunately, follow suit.”

Tonner still resisted. “Bullshit.”

“Then shoot me. Just squeeze the trigger, and watch the only person you care about die screaming. Your last connection to humanity.” Elias bore down on her. “Do it.”

Tonner finally lowered her gun, bending. Elias sent her on her way, saying he’d be in touch. He already had plans for her violence.

The staff left the room disheartened. Jon remained motionless until the door closed behind them.

Elias looked at him, ghosts of his hands still in his head. “Come on, Jon. There’s really no need for that scowl.”

Jon, still jittery, snapped, “What do you want?”

Elias took a moment to consider his question and didn’t like what he saw. Instead, he simply answered, “Honestly? To offer some congratulations. You’re doing a lot better than expected.”

Jon’s ears perked at that, and Elias almost laughed. Like an open book.

Jon did laugh. “Feels like all I’ve managed to do is not die.”

Some months ago, Elias would have agreed with him. But his recent progress was wonderful to see. “And believe me, that is a remarkably rare skill,” he said.

Jon’s body blurred as the Archivist stepped out from him. It walked through the walls, passing Elias on its way out. A single finger ran down the side of his head which Elias resisted leaning into. Jon slumped in its absence.

“I’m not getting any answers out of his, am I?”

Elias brought his attention to the archivist once again. “The easily digestible sort? No, not from me. These are things you must discover on your own.”

“Why?” Jon entreated.

“You are the archivist. It is your job to chronicle these things, to experience them. To simply be told, well…”

Jon scoffed. “What, it doesn’t please your master?”

No, thought Elias. It doesn’t please you. But he didn’t say so, instead saying, “Our master, Jon.”

“I never chose this,” emphatically said Jon.

But there was a difference between wanting and choosing. Elias had been offered neither option, so he couldn’t try to relate to Jon’s choices. He could only watch from the sidelines and hope Jon had enough of his god in him to continue his work.

“So what now?”

Elias considered. Returning Jon to the archives was undesirable due to the ever-increasing tensions, and Elias wanted Jon to ride this wave of learning as far as he could.

“You were doing fine before you forced this little scene. I suggest you continue.”

“So it was you. Sending me statements.”

“A little bit of direction never hurt anybody.” Elias paused, hearing dripping again. “So to speak.”

He was gratified to hear Jon’s weak chuckle. Elias was surprised to think that they might have been on good terms had the circumstances been different.

“Directed towards what?” Jon asked. Ever with the questions.

“The Unknowing,” Elias answered. “The Stranger wishes to remake physical reality into something closer to itself. It wants to make this world its own. I need you to stop it.”

“And I know you know how to do so!” exclaimed Jon. “You could just tell me!”

“I could. But I believe that if I did so, you would fail. The Stranger is antithetical to us. If you are to stop them, you need to get better at seeing.”

“So it’s… it’s back to breadcrumbs, and statements, and risking my life talking to things that barely remember how to be human anymore?”

Elias showed his teeth and Jon took a small step back. “For now. I’ll be in touch.”

Elias turned Basira’s contract of employment around and began to fill out the fields. He’d need to ask Renee to process the paperwork quickly.

Jon remained stood in the center of his office. Elias’ clear dismissal would usually send anyone away, but it never worked on Jon. He looked back up at the battered man.

“Anything else?”

Jon hesitated. Rightly so. Elias got the impression he was vulnerable.

He still asked his question.

“Am I… Elias, am I still human?”

What could Elias say to that? Yes, but soon not? Unfortunately? Because of me? In spite of me? He really wanted Jon to not be human, to join him in the Eye’s pupil, but the man would balk at the idea. Elias could only hope he would make the right choice when the time came. He had made his choices previously, and they had resulted in him standing at Elias’ desk.

“Jon, what does human even mean? I mean, really? You still bleed, you can still die. And your will is still your own. Mostly. That’s more than can be said for a lot of the ‘real’ humans out there. Just do what you need to, and you’ll be fine. Understood?”

Jon shifted his weight back and forth uncertainly. “I suppose so.”

“Good. Now, if there’s nothing else?”

“Right.”

Elias clicked the tape recorder off and got back to staring at the contract on the desk. Jon’s doubt still hung in the room, making it hard to concentrate.

Elias caved. “Here. This might help.” Elias leafed through the papers in his top drawer and extracted a statement. He handed it to Jon. “It will be useful in determining your next step.”

Jon walked to Elias’ desk and reached out his right hand. The raw flesh just barely brushed the pages but Jon still winced, suddenly remembering the pain. He took the statement with his left hand. Elias watched.

“You know, children are taught to touch hot things with the back of their hands first, to see if they’d be burned.”

Jon bristled, but Elias put out a placating hand. “But you’ve always been very hands-on. Much more so than Gertrude.”

“I suppose that’s good for you,” Jon sneered.

Elias smirked back. “We’ll have to see with time. I’ve liked it so far.”

Jon almost growled at himself. He had turned to leave when Elias made up his mind.

“Jon, if I may—”

“You may not,” Jon said over his shoulder with quiet ferocity.

Elias ignored that. “Just a suggestion. You should harness your compelling. It's running rampant right now, and I imagine,” Elias pointedly glanced at Jon’s hand, “most others don’t like being compelled. You may want to aim for something… subtler.”

“Yes, people can get rather… angry at it. Except for you.” Jon quickly checked Elias’ eyes, then resumed looking at the wall. “Of course, it would be easier if I had someone to teach me.”

“Contrary to what you may believe, I _am_ skilled in certain areas, Jon. Not as helpful as someone directly in your line of work, but that can’t be helped now. If you really find yourself needing, we can arrange an appointment to discuss your powers.”

Jon groaned tiredly and lolled his head back. “Why’d you have to kill Gertrude.” The movement opened his wound, and a sluggish stream of blood rolled down his throat.

“Because,” Elias’ many eyes drank up the stream of blood, “she tried to hurt what was mine.” Not a warning extended to Jon, but a promise cloaked around him.

Jon shivered, slightly, under the weight of possession. He nodded curtly and exited Elias’ office. Elias was finally left to his paperwork.

* * *

Elias stepped out into the afternoon, inhaling the cool spring. The day was overcast, the air still. A big man in a coat too thick for the weather was leaning against the railing at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the institute.

Elias entertained the idea of turning back into the institute for a few seconds, but started down the steps nonetheless. Peter was chewing on a large pipe in his mouth, looking off into the distance. Elias wondered how long he had been standing there, getting his posture just right. He would bet the man didn’t even smoke.

He stopped a few stairs above Peter. Peter finally turned his head.

“Hi,” he smiled, moving the pipe to the corner of his mouth.

Elias said nothing, just leveled him an unimpressed look until Peter, sighing, got off the railing and folded down his coat collar.

He rebounded quickly. “So, haven’t gone dark after all?”

Elias shrugged. “I had just assumed you’d heard about Rayner. I was actually going to phone to ask for a meeting, but this works as well.”

“Are you sure you don’t just like stringing me along?”

“Besides that. My archivist was throwing a fit.”

Elias reflexively looked into Barker’s flat to check on Jon. He was – oh. Michael was visiting. He watched as it – ugh. It pinned Jon like a butterfly to corkboard, looming over him. Its fingers neatly sliced through his shoulders. Jon’s mouth kept moving, though. Elias wondered what Jon wanted from it.

“Your archivist?” Elias heard distantly. With great reluctance, Elias averted his gaze from the scene across town. Back on the stairs, Peter’s eyebrows were raised at Elias’ darkened eyes.

“Yes.” Elias cleared his throat. “I wanted to discuss a few ideas I have about some collaborations. Could you come by next week?”

“Well, waiting is all well and good for you, but I’ve lost my primary source of income! Heartlessly shot down, right in front of me… I’m not sure I can make it to next week!” Peter’s joking tone had turned cold, and his eyes had tightened.

The captain’s eyes settled on a woman walking past them up the stairs. “Maybe you owe me?”

“No,” Elias warned. “Peter, no. I need Renee to handle the new hires.”

Peter pointed to another woman leaving the institute. “Her?”

“Ms. Bennett is just finishing her research project with us. I can’t let her research go to waste.”

Peter’s mouth twisted. “Didn’t know you were so protective.”

Elias just shrugged again.

“Please? I really am on my knees. Are you set on keeping me down here?” Peter looked up at Elias.

Elias scowled at the man. It was usually his job to put images into people’s heads.

“Fine. If you see any civilians on your way up to my office next week, you can have them. Just leave mine alone.”

Peter grinned. “Perfect. I’ll be seeing you, then.” He made to walk off, but turned back to Elias.

“Oh, and—” Peter said, then blew slightly into his pipe. A single bubble grew at its end and detached itself. The environment faded into the background as Elias stared at it in disbelief.

The bubble floated slowly to the pavement and popped on the concrete. Elias raised his eyes to Peter’s. Peter’s grin grew even wider and Elias’ vision turned red. By the time he had found the letter opener in his jacket pocket Peter had already vanished, so Elias was left clutching it, breathing hard.

Peter had better come prepared to their next meeting. Elias would make sure the letter opener was within easy reach.

A bubble pipe.

Elias was going to kill him one of these days.

* * *

MAG 96.

In the dread calm following revelation, Elias was left alone. Jon was still at Barker’s flat, and the assistants took pains to avoid him. Elias turned his gaze outward.

Breekon and Hope hadn’t been still in months. Their loyalty to the Stranger almost certainly had them shipping supplies for the Unknowing, but however Elias tried, his gaze just slid off them. If asked, he wouldn’t have come up with a better description than Martin or Rosie had – the two couriers were just ordinary.

Elias cursed his idleness. While he was practicing human manipulation, he had almost completely neglected to grow the supernatural side of his power. As such, Elias could only follow the van for a couple of blocks before he lost them, like a muscle releasing reflexively. He needed to get stronger, but he wasn’t sure how. He appreciated Jon’s sentiment – it would be nice to have some guidance.

For now, Elias just settled into a bulking routine, spending the first hour of every day training his sight. Some destinations were easier to see than others. Elias kept a list of all hideouts. He would send them to Tonner later.

Elias was so close to passing his personal best, following the van for almost three city blocks now, when he was interrupted by Jon’s echoing voice. He had found the depot. Elias had made sure it was deserted before mailing the statement – that had only taken a couple hours of uninterrupted watching before Elias knew that no power was contained there anymore.

“I was right about the Newcastle depot. It’s still here, and it seems like it’s been deserted for a long time.” Jon looked around the facility. He was leaning against a wall a fair ways away from the corpse of the previous owner. In his crossed arms nestled a tape recorder.

“There’s a pile of mail at the door almost two feet high, and today it was topped with a crisp brown envelope addressed to me, containing this statement. A gift from Elias, no doubt. He could have sent this to me any time, filled me in on Breekon and Hope, but no. I had to find it myself, just in time for him to show me he knew all about it. Cocky prick.” Jon slung the insult in the institute’s direction, scowling.

Elias’ lips twitched upwards. Jon was in rare form today.

“Still, there’s not actually as much information here as I’d hoped,” Jon continued. “Although it does seem to confirm that they have some connection to the circus, judging by clandestine meetings with someone apparently dressed as a ringmaster - as if it’s not obvious if you’re dressed as a ringmaster.”

Elias chuckled. It was nice to see Jon dissecting the statement with his usual bite. Elias had missed his quaint dismissals, back when he was new to the archives.

“I should probably keep an eye out for delivery vans.” Jon headed towards the door. “This place… this place is done with its story. Its just… empty.”

Jon stepped out into the afternoon sun, slanting in through the door. He looked back in over his shoulder. “I don’t like it.” The door clanged shut behind him.

Elias had noticed a van lurking around Ms. Barker’s flat several times now. Jon should also practice watching.

* * *

MAG 99.

Jon was gone.

Elias had walked into the budgeting meeting with Jon’s words faint in his ears, and had walked out to silence. It could have been that Jon had finished his statement and turned the tape off, but it wasn’t. It went deeper than that. The undercurrent of Jon’s fear was gone - something Elias hadn’t noticed was there at all.

Elias already knew he wouldn’t see Jon anywhere in the city.

Distantly, a button clicked on, followed by metallic whining. Elias almost didn’t recognize it as a tape recorder – it had a different quality than the healthy whirring Elias was accustomed to. Oh. Elias’ eyes widened. He didn’t recognize it.

A shrill voice spoke through it, sending slivers into Elias’ ears. “Is it your Elias who listens? Hellooooo! He’s mine now, and you can’t have him back!”

Elias clutched the spoken line like a rope and heaved himself towards its source. His attention wandered, but he knew what to watch for – a drifting of eyes, a sudden lack of interest. He kept his mind with him, slowly oozing to the recorder. It was slow going, like moving up a turbulent river on a rope, hand by hand.

“So, Elias, can I call you Elias? Let me set the scene, as I know you can’t actually see this. He’s tied to a chair - Sarah wanted to use nails, but I talked her out of it because I’m a good friend. You’re welcome. And he is absolutely surrounded with waxworks.”

Jon’s muffled grunts filtered into the recorder.

“Excuse me! I’m talking to your boss, and I would thank you not to interrupt. You know, I must say Elias. You have not raised this one very well.”

Elias grimaced. He didn’t need more distractions. It was getting harder and harder to concentrate as he got closer and closer to the Stranger.

The speaker’s footsteps walked away from the recorder. Desperate, Elias lunged for Jon – but the tape recorder clicked off, and Elias was left at a department store.

Concern made a heavy nest in his stomach.

* * *

“Thank you all for coming.”

Elias was met with sullen silence from the assistants gathered in the small meeting room. Tim’s absence hung like the rotting smell of an old house – accepted. Elias hadn’t told him of this meeting and apparently neither had anyone else.

“I’ve called you here to discuss this month’s plan.”

A minute twitch rippled through the room, eyebrows fractionally drawing together.

“Since when do we have plans?” Melanie asked from her spot on the opposite wall.

“Jon is unavailable right now, so he won’t be coming in this month. In the meantime, I would like for you to help him in his efforts to stop the Unknowing.”

“Why won’t he be coming in?” Martin asked.

Melanie sneered. “A little vacation for the archivist?”

“Nothing as pleasant as that,” said Elias. “He’s doing some more… direct research into the Stranger.”

Martin’s mouth pressed into an unhappy line.

“While he’s preoccupied, we really need to find the ritual site. The Stranger’s activities are increasing, and I suspect we only have several months before it attempts its ascension.” Elias cast his gaze at the gathered assistants. “I don’t think I need to tell you that we don’t want that.”

“What, can’t you just see it?”

“If I made a habit of telegraphing our intentions, yes, I could ‘just see it’,” Elias lied. “But due to its nature, it has a keen sense of detection, and I’m worried if I do so it will change plans. The Stranger is… very adaptable. Our best course of action is to do this the old-fashioned way. Which is, after all, your job.”

A begrudging silence settled. The room was almost cut into four: the bullet thrummed its rage beside the door, and Martin’s nervousness claimed the area to the left of Elias. Basira was a solid presence to his right. She was as expressionless as ever, and Elias wished for the umpteenth time that he could see what she was thinking. What she was made of. As far as he could see, she was a blank slate. Calculating. Elias had to admit he respected her.

If Jon didn’t return… Elias shook his head.

“Good. I’ve assembled some statements that should be relevant to your research. We also have some books on circuses that may be helpful, should you want to read up on your history.” He passed a list of statement codes to Martin.

“Should we tell Tim about this?” he asked.

“No, I’ll be having a talk with him. But, do mention to him that, with the archivist gone, you all will be taking statements.”

The three assistants looked even more displeased.

“Fine,” Basira said. “Is that it?”

“Yes. Thank you,” Elias said.

Melanie and Martin left, Melanie’s voice echoing down the hallway. “Is he always this useless? Are you sure we shouldn’t disassemble him for parts?”

Basira stayed in the room, the corner of her mouth lifting at Melanie’s words. Elias looked at her, unimpressed.

“What do you have Daisy doing?” she asked cautiously.

“Why don’t you ask her?”

“She’s not responding to my texts.”

“Hm,” Elias said. He waited a few seconds for Basira’s lips to turn back down.

“The Stranger would suspect a targeted attack from our institute, but if a feral hunter attacked several of their number seemingly at random…” Elias smiled. “It’s a lot less suspicious, and the safest way to directly strike at the Stranger.”

“She doesn’t have any backup. What if she gets hurt?” Worry laced itself into Basira’s tongue.

“She’s been doing good work so far. And you know full well that she’s been wanting to, ah, let loose for years now. I wouldn’t worry about it too much. They aren’t big jobs.”

Basira left the room.

Elias wouldn’t be talking to Tim. He would try to have Tim remain unaware of the Unknowing for as long as possible. His obsessive tendencies towards the circus were unpredictable, and Elias suspected he would do something rash and alert the Stranger to their plans. He was a danger. More than that, he was erratic.

* * *

MAG 100.

A man downstairs disappeared from Elias’ view.

Half an hour passed before Peter Lukas stepped into his office.

“I didn’t invite you to my institute for a tour.”

Peter grinned sheepishly at him over his shoulder, then turned back around and started to pull books off shelves randomly.

“You have a big institute. I got lost,” he said.

“Well, I have things to be doing after this, so.”

Peter pulled another book off the shelf. “There has to be a secret compartment somewhere, right?” When that book failed to open a hidden door, he placed it back, a disappointed slump to his shoulders, and took a seat across Elias.

Elias tapped his pen on the table, then discarded it. “How have you been.”

Peter looked surprised. “Oh! I’ve been fine.”

“How’s Roxanne? Has your issue been resolved?”

Peter tilted his head, looking at him. “I’d say so. She’s not around as much these days, which suits me.”

“Hm,” Elias just said. Forsaken eats its own too, then.

Brushing off those thoughts, Elias said, “Just as well. We couldn’t count on her support if she was set against you.”

“Are you finally going to tell me support for what?”

Elias did.

He had asked some staff to put together a report on space exploration and the Magnus Institute’s connections to bodies regarding it. The report was surprisingly big, as apparently many astronauts experienced otherworldly things in space. Many organizations had contacted the institute over the years and thus owed the institute favours.

Peter looked thoughtful. “We could use some fresh ideas aboard the Daedalus. But I’m not sure the Vast appreciates its victims being warned of its intentions.”

“If I could have a talk with one of its representatives, I’m sure we could work something out. Our information could be misleading.”

Peter nodded.

“I also wanted to see if your lot would be interested in a new venture.”

“Maybe we would. What is it?”

“A news station,” Elias said. Peter looked skeptical. “Now, I know how that sounds, but if I’m being honest it will be more helpful to you.” Peter looked even more skeptical.

Elias sighed. “Look, I know you don’t watch the news because you can’t read,” he paused and dared Peter to object. When the man stayed silent, Elias continued, “but the knowledge out there is infinite. In fact, I would even say it is Vast. With that amount of knowledge, and when applied properly, anyone can be made to feel small and isolated.”

“I’ve picked out some stations that already have leanings towards us. Some of them are actually quite respectable. If we’re able to purchase a share, we can start to sway them in our direction.” Elias slid Peter another report.

Peter sat, overwhelmed, in Elias’ chair, holding the two lengthy reports in his hands. Elias didn’t think he would be receiving any confirmation from Peter himself.

“I realize I’ve given you a lot of information,” Elias said, “and I’m sure you’d like some time to absorb it all. Why don’t you read through those reports and get back to me with your suggestions.”

A knock came at the door and Elias pulled a folder onto his desk.

“That would be my next appointment. I await your decisions.”

Peter disappeared.

“Come i—”, Elias called, then stopped.

A small wooden carving of a fox stood on Elias’ shelf.

* * *

MAG 104.

It didn’t take long for Martin to mention the Unknowing.

Elias swung open the door. “Knock, knock.”

Martin sat at his desk, concern creasing his face. Tim slumped in the opposite chair. His desolate expression immediately hardened upon seeing Elias.

“Great.”

“Martin, would you give us a moment?” Elias said. Martin hesitated. “Please.” He quelled Martin’s objections.

Martin shot an apologetic look at Tim and exited the office. The two men glared at each other.

“You were watching then?”

“Most of it,” said Elias.

“Surprised you didn’t know it already. That’s your thing, isn’t it?” The bite in Tim’s words was daunting.

“I knew there was some trauma that drew you to us, but I can’t say I ever thought to look much deeper. An oversight, perhaps, but I’m looking now.” It was a lie - Elias had known, before, but there was no need to aggravate the man further.

“All right, hit me with your X-ray eyes then, boss. What do you see?”

“Disruption. An unpredictable, angry man with nothing left but the desire to feel in some way revenged.” Tim’s stony eyes lit on fire. “I’m only going to tell you this once. Please stay away from the Unknowing, the circus, all of it. I don’t believe you can help, and I don’t know what will happen if you get involved.”

“Oh sure. I’ll just forget about it. Go back to sulking in a corner.”

“I mean it, Tim.”

“Oh, oh, you mean it? Oh well, that’s different. Okay, well, let me tell you what. If you want me to ignore everything that’s going on, forget my brother and everything that’s happened over the last two years, how about you kill me?”

Elias was unprepared for the sheer rage that seethed in Tim. It wasn’t even anything supernatural; the man was simply backed into a corner, caught between his two sworn enemies. Elias was reduced to using empty threats.

“I don’t want it to come to that.”

“Well, me neither. But here we are. So my proposal for you is this: either kill me or fuck off.”

Elias cast about for anything he could use against Tim, but he found nothing. Tim didn’t care about his work, so his past transgressions held no sway on him. He had no family and had driven away any friends he may have had, so Elias couldn’t use any of his connections against him.

Elias returned to the conversation empty-handed.

“I’ll come back when you’re feeling more… reasonable.”

“Then I guess I’ll see you in hell.”

Elias didn’t really have anything to say to that.

He walked away, shaken. He had no control over Stoker, and Stoker knew it. His complete disconnection with everyone around him was his only asset. That, and the two-pronged hatred burning in his chest. He would keep charging headfirst towards the circus, and Elias could do nothing to stop him.

He shouldn’t have let Tim get like this. Both in an employee-management sense and a hazard-management sense. He only hoped Jon –

Oh.

Elias had been going about this all wrong, hadn’t he.

Elias winced as he remembered his recording to Jon not three weeks ago. What had he said?

The words spooled back to him.

“…You may believe yourself to have friends, to have confidants, but in the end, all they are is something for you to watch, to know, and ultimately to discard. This, at least, Gertrude understood.”

Elias scowled. For an omniscient being, that was remarkably near-sighted of him. Of course Gertrude understood this – that’s what made her so powerful. That was how she out-played Elias, the institute, anyone in her way time and time again. That’s how Stoker was winning their battle of wills.

Elias dearly hoped Jon disregarded his words. He couldn’t let his archivist go down that route. He needed him under control until he didn’t have to influence him anymore. He needed him connected.

Jon had been heartbroken over Sasha’s death. So had the rest of the team, but that was unimportant right now. He was only arguing with Tim so much because he cared about him. He’d even warmed up to Martin.

The archivist was, in many ways, the opposite of Gertrude. A mess in every aspect except for his work, desperately clutching at his connections to his fellow man, and constantly on the front lines.

If he cared about his assistants enough…

Elias had a new way to achieve his goals.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ep96: "i should watch out for delivery vans"  
> ep99: Jon gets thrown into a delivery van
> 
> i was going to complain about 8tracks closing down (i have an APPALLING amount of playlists for this fic & nowhere to post them), but then i thought about just how many Britney Spears songs are on the elias one and... reconsidered. maybe its a good thing.  
> ah fuck it if 8tracks ever gets its shit together heres [one of them](https://8tracks.com/eleventhsin/the-overseer)


	6. INTERLUDE: Peter Lukas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Elias has (a) bad taste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [deep sigh]  
> awful old men can be a little horny. as a treat

The assistants’ uneasiness was increasing by the day. Tim bristled with barely restrained rage whenever he saw Elias, Martin avoided him like the plague, and Melanie was continuing her petty terror campaign. He had found all his pens in the garbage, broken in two. It seemed as though Basira was the only rational person employed in the archives.

Elias began planning eventualities. He wouldn’t be removed as the heart of the institute, but if he was somehow indisposed, he would need a replacement. Someone to run things in his absence.

Absence. Elias examined the word, intrigued. A Lukas running the institute… it would be an interesting experiment. Peter clearly had some experience in running a business, as well as some interest in the Eye. In Elias, specifically. It would take more than a few words to turn him against the institute.

But Elias knew how Lukases hated being around people. Peter would need a buffer.

Jonathan couldn’t be that buffer. Elias knew he could leave Jon to his own devices, mostly, but Forsaken was a different story. His connections to his coworkers were already flimsy at best; Elias was certain he would not emerge from Forsaken’s fog. If Elias wanted him to remain connected, he would need to be kept far away from Peter. It would need to be one of his assistants.

Martin was the best candidate. His relationship with his mother was fraught, and the loneliness exuding from his gaze whenever he looked at Jon was enough for even Elias to appreciate. He was expendable. Lastly, if Martin was tied to Forsaken, Jon would tread lightly around Peter.

Elias picked up the phone to set his plan into motion.

“Do you have an answer for me?” Elias leaned back in his chair.

“I have a proposition for you,” Peter’s tinny voice sounded through the receiver. Elias wondered if it was some aspect of Forsaken that made their connection so shaky. He always sounded more muffled than he should.

“Even better. Could you come by my office Thursday afternoon?”

“I’ll be there.”

“I also wanted to mention that I may be able to offer you an assistant,” Elias said. Peter made a sound of interest.

“I think you’ll be around the institute more now, and Martin has an unmatched aptitude for Forsaken. He’s been doing some research on your lot. I think you should meet him.”

* * *

MAG 108.

Elias _was_ grinning ear-to-ear, but Peter didn’t have to say it like that.

Martin’s worried voice drifted up to Elias.

“Y-you’re one of them, aren’t you? A, a Lukas.”

“Yes, that’s - Peter, pleased to meet you! How did you know that?”

“I was just, reading? Jon left some notes—”

“I see. Did Elias suggest you record a statement today? One that mentioned me?” Peter glanced up in the direction of his office. Elias grinned at him from between the shelves.

“Yeah? Sort of - I mean, you know, not you specifically, but—”

“It must be one of his little jokes.” Peter sighed. “I almost thought he genuinely wanted me to meet the team. Ah, well.”

He switched tracks. “So, what’s Elias like to work for? Aside from orchestrating unsettling encounters?”

Martin cast a nervous glance up to Elias’ office. “Fine, I guess? I mean, not so much with the manipulation, and sometimes the… murder?”

Peter’s eyebrows raised. “Oh! That doesn’t sound like the Elias I know. He killed people himself?”

“I mean I wasn’t, I wasn’t there, but that’s what he said? And I did see the body. Bodies,” Martin said, wringing his hands together.

“Elias Bouchard, getting his hands dirty… ah, well. Must be the end times.” Peter almost sounded impressed. “So, your advice would be less murder?” He summarized.

“I suppose?” Martin had given up trying to understand this conversation.

“No, no, it’s a good observation, I thank you for it. Well, I’m sure I’ve disturbed you quite enough for one day. I have a meeting to get to and a few things to tell Elias to his face about wasting both our time. Be seeing you! As it were.”

Peter disappeared from the archives and reappeared at Elias’ door.

Elias hadn’t expected him so soon, so was still filing away the last of the morning meeting’s notes. He had no choice but to square up to the larger man as he marched up to him.

Underneath his usual cheery demeanor, Peter was angry. Elias could see it in the way his body was more present, his eyes a little more grey.

“I thought you didn’t make a habit of lying.”

“I wasn’t lying, Peter. You simply assumed. I hope you were civil with my employee.”

Peter scowled. “You said I could have him.”

“No. I said he was predisposed to the Lonely. Was I wrong?”

“No,” Peter admitted.

“I just gave him a chance to meet a … potential future collaborator. You know how we are about learning – don’t be upset because we have to jump through a few more hoops than you.” Elias purred. “And besides – you two had a full conversation between you! That’s an achievement, from what I understand.”

Peter took a small step back.

Elias went back to filing his notes. The captain had installed the camera on his ship himself, so it was his own fault. Elias certainly wasn’t going to just ignore it. On the days the camera wasn’t obscured by fog, the captain rarely emerged from his cabin. On land, Peter Lukas avoided conversations like the plague. He could barely order a coffee without blanching.

This conversation with Martin was significant.

Elias filed away his last sheet of paper into the drawer and walked around to his desk. He motioned to the chair across him as he sat down. Peter was transparent in the middle of the room, clearly fighting the urge to slip away into his fog.

Elias sighed.

“No matter what you might think, this is good. You’ll need to communicate with _someone_ to get things done around here, and I’ll feel better if you had a steady source of fear in my absence.”

Peter flickered into solidity.

“Your absence?”

“Just planning for eventualities. I’ll keep in touch,” Elias said, waving his hand. “In the meantime, have you discussed our plan with yours?”

Peter sat down lightly, still wavering. “Yes, I have. They all, naturally, have a lot of questions, so I said that you’d organize a formal presentation or the like, to explain and introduce yourself.” Peter grimaced. “It’ll be painful, but they seem on board with the idea so far.”

Elias ignored how Peter perked up at his own ship pun.

“That might be best. I’ll send you the details once I’ve organized everything,” he replied. “And the Fairchilds?”

Peter shrugged. “Simon’s not big on business, but he will throw money at anything that sounds interesting. I’ll make sure he attends.”

“Please do,” said Elias.

Peter let himself fade from view.

Elias picked up the receiver but withdrew it from his ear when the dial tone didn’t sound. Frowning, he turned the phone over and its mechanical guts clattered onto his desk. He listened to Melanie’s laughter rising from the breakroom as he stared at a small metal screw. He hadn’t been looking at his office during this morning’s meeting, but he had an idea as to who the culprit was. His hand twitched.

* * *

“Ah, you must be Simon Fairchild?”

The wrinkled man was small even by Elias’ standards, and he was positively dwarfed by the captain beside him. His eyes glinted out of the pink folds of his skull, assessing the head of the Magnus Institute. His smile widened.

“Yes! Pleased to meet you! You’re Mr. Magnus?” he squeaked out, resting two hands on his cane.

“Almost. Elias Bouchard,” Elias said, assessing him back. Fairchild’s plain navy suit was scuffed and worn away, his dress shoes doubly so. Elias tried not to base his judgement off appearances, though. The sheer amount of statements he had read about the man was enough to keep his guard up.

“Yes, that’s what I said,” Fairchild squeaked again. “Peter’s been talking nonstop about you, I’m glad you’ve arranged this little get-together.”

Peter turned red and looked away, muttering, “I mentioned him once.” Elias smiled.

“I’m glad you made it.”

“Of course!” Simon stood on his tiptoes. “I heard you’re thinking up a new way to get people to fall! It's very exciting.” Simon was no longer standing on his toes. He hovered an inch off the floor, suit billowing slightly.

“With your support, of course,” Elias said smoothly.

Without warning, his stomach jolted free and dropped. The warm air of the hall whipped past his face even as it stayed still. Elias didn’t fight it, didn’t fix his sight on his feet still stationed on the dark wood floor. He just rode it out, enjoying the plummet. It wasn’t every day Elias could fall without consequences.

The feeling was gone as quickly as it came. Simon alighted onto his feet once more, nodding his approval. “Are you sure you’re happy with your Eye?”

Elias laughed. “Quite sure, thank you.”

Simon shrugged, attention already off Elias. “Fine, fine. We’ll work fine together.” His eye caught the appetizers table. “Ooh, snacks!” He slipped between the two men and headed straight for it.

The two remaining men looked at each other. Elias spoke first.

“Where do I keep getting you people?”

Peter just clapped him on his shoulder. “You did well! He likes you.” He followed Simon to the appetizers table, where he was already wielding an impossibly stacked plate. Elias turned to greet the next guest, understandably bewildered after witnessing an old man levitating.

After several speeches and presentations outlining the goals of the project, the guests rose from their tables to mingle.

It didn’t take long for Elias to notice how Peter faded in others’ presence, family notwithstanding. He watched as one potential contributor needled at the captain, Peter stepping back every time a gesture caused his personal space to be punctured.

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” Elias received nods in return, slipping away from the conversation. He cut a beeline to the couple.

The woman was pressing him about his sources. Peter jumped when Elias spoke behind him.

“The Magnus Institute has many connections to well-established research bodies across the world. Elias Bouchard,” he said smoothly, reaching around Peter to shake her hand. As he did so, he lightly touched Peter’s back, signaling that he would take if from here. Peter solidified around his hand and left the two alone.

It was some time before Elias saw the captain again. Not that he was looking – he was very clearly defending himself against an unmistakeably pale pair of Lukases.

“This is all so sudden, you have to understand,” the woman across Elias was saying. “We Lukases have a long history. We’re used to taking our time. I understand you’ve only recently come into your position, so I won’t fault you for it, but…”

Elias kept his irritation under tight wraps. These Lukases reminded him of old memories. He must have been showing some of it, though, because he felt a large presence behind him, cold seeping through his shirt.

“Oh, Sarah, big words for someone who's been remarried thrice already,” Peter’s voice remarked blandly behind Elias.

Sarah bristled at the betrayal.

“Well it’s three times better than you, Peter. At least I know I can bag a catch.”

Elias waited for a snappy comeback from Peter. When one didn’t surface, he said, “You are aware Peter is a fisherman, no?”

Sarah and her husband stared at Elias. Elias couldn’t help a small smile. “Apologies. I’ll leave you three to it,” he said, and stepped aside to flag down the event organizer. Sarah’s high pitch resumed behind him.

They worked well together – Elias helped Peter escape strangers and neatly fielded any questions about the scope and licensing for the news station, and Peter appeared between Elias and his family as a buffer for their prying.

The hours passed in a blur of conversation and Peter’s hand on the small of his back, gently pointing him towards his next target. A dance.

Elias kept several eyes on him the entire evening, interested to see how he acted around others. Peter always stood apart from the groups of conversations he was roped into. He only stepped in when someone mentioned their children or spouse, latching onto their connections. He was different with Simon - he stood closer to the old man, his shoulders bobbing with laughter at Simon’s tales of physics-defying stunts. But he only touched Elias.

Another pair of pale eyes glared at Elias. Elias was starting to get tired of the animosity he was receiving from the Lukas family – this project existed to benefit them, after all. Only, the words he heard coming from this Lukas’ mouth were different.

“… had best be careful. I think the only reason there’s so many of us in here is so we can meet the person Peter’s been seeing,” the older woman was saying quietly to Elias, her words an echo of his first encounter with Peter.

“I don’t think a little bit of business is anything to be concerned about,” Elias replied evenly. “Besides, if you are concerned, why not send someone else to handle the institute?”

The woman’s lips turned down. “As if we could. He’s rather appointed himself the head of all things Beholding,” she said, glancing over Elias’ shoulder. “And,” she met his eyes once more, “as if you would accept any other Lukas.”

Cold breath touched the back of Elias’ neck, sparing him from responding. “Giving away family secrets again, Margaret?”

Margaret just shrugged, still looking at Elias.

“We need him,” she said pointedly.

“Don’t worry, Margaret. I think Peter’s forgotten how to be human so thoroughly that making connections is beyond him.” Elias leaned in conspiratorially. “I once saw him order a peanut butter and tuna sandwich.” He leaned back again, shoulder brushing Peter’s arm. “He’s safe with me.”

Margaret cast one last look over the pair, then left without a goodbye.

“Thanks,” Peter begrudgingly grumbled.

“And you called _me_ possessive.” Elias made a face at Margaret’s retreating back.

Peter jabbed his side, trying not to laugh. “Stop, she’ll see.”

“It’s not like I’ll make things any worse for myself. I’m getting the distinct impression that your family doesn’t like me.” He turned to look up at Peter. “It’s a good thing they sent you to attend the gala. I don’t think I’d have fared well against anyone else.”

Peter looked shifty but brought his hands to Elias’ elbows nonetheless. “Lucky you?”

Elias didn’t press. “Perhaps.” Conscious of the eyes on them, he said, “I spent the last hour telling your family that you were just like them. You should have just told me you were planning to throw my hard work away.”

Peter remembered himself and withdrew. Before he could disappear again Elias nodded towards the door. Confused, Peter turned to look. Understanding dawned, and he winked at Elias as he headed out. Elias suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and turned to make another circuit of the gathered investors. No need to be even more conspicuous than Peter already made them.

Elias emerged to an empty corridor. Not seeing Peter anywhere, he picked a direction and started to walk. Cold air followed on his heels. When he turned the far corner, Peter finally materialized behind him. Elias turned to face the man, but Peter kept moving forward.

“There goes my reputation for being lonely and unlovable,” Peter said lightly, walking Elias backwards.

“I think that title is still yours to keep,” Elias said. His back hit a wall.

“You think so?” Peter kept his voice mild. He leaned into Elias just enough to press him into the wall.

Elias couldn’t believe himself.

He sighed in defeat and tilted his head to the left. “Fine. Maybe that one was a lie.”

Peter’s lips found Elias’ neck as gravity, his stubble scraping the sensitive skin. Elias scrabbled up on his toes and brought his hands to the captain’s head. One he threaded through the grey hair, tugging it up. Peter’s craned neck was bad for his posture.

Peter complied and grabbed Elias’ thighs to lift him up to waist height, pinning him to the wall once more. Elias’ breath was knocked out of him. Peter hummed in appreciation.

When he had regained oxygen, Elias breathed, “There’s someone looking for me.”

A man had wandered out of the ballroom. His voice echoed in the empty hallways. “Mr. Bouchard?”

The words suddenly dropped dead. The man didn’t round the corner, and Elias couldn’t see him anywhere. He frowned.

“I needed him,” Elias said. Peter didn’t react. “I’m serious, he was supposed to present to us tomorrow.”

Peter pulled back, his face impassive, and shrugged. “He was panicking about being left alone. Which is what happens when you have a room full of Lukases. When the fear’s that strong, I can’t control it.”

“Hm. Perhaps we should move, then? There’s a room down the hall.”

Peter simply peeled him from the wall and started to walk down the hall. It was his mistake, really. Elias nestled perfectly into the crook of his neck. “Show-off,” his lips brushed his ear. He trailed his finger down the man’s spine.

“Although, really. How did it feel when I showed you off?” Elias asked into Peter’s ear.

“I think you wouldn’t mind if I claimed you. You’d like that. You on the head of the Magnus Institute’s arm.”

Peter stayed quiet.

“Or on something else of mine? Hm?” Elias grinned into his ear.

Peter’s steps quickened down the hallway.

They were almost at the door. Elias’ fingers trailed Peter’s neck until the man shivered hard enough to almost drop him. Elias landed on the floor and entered the room first.

Peter stopped just inside the door. Elias hopped up onto the desk in the centre of the room, expectantly spreading his legs. He watched Peter carefully take his jacket off, trying not to crease it, and upon finding no coat hangers in this meeting room simply drop it to the floor. He turned to Elias, hands in his pockets, doing his best to appear casual.

“Although, I was wondering,” Elias began as the large man strolled over until he fit himself between Elias’ legs once more. His large hands untangled themselves from his pockets and gripped Elias’ hips.

“How come you only get close to Simon Fairchild?” Elias asked, then gasped as Peter set his mouth to Elias’ neck and sucked on the already bruised skin. Sucked like he was trying to latch onto him.

Peter didn’t find what he was looking for. He moved on to another piece of skin. “We’re old friends. He’s powerful – he’s helped me out of many a tough spot. And I him.”

“If you’re close to Simon because he’s powerful, then I wonder what that makes me,” mused Elias, wrapping his legs around Peter’s hips.

Peter huffed a laugh, the cold air from his lungs hitting Elias’ neck with a thrill.

“I wouldn’t worry about it. I just think you’re hot,” Peter mouthed into Elias’ neck.

Elias chuckled.

Some minutes later they were once again interrupted by the event organizer looking for Elias.

“There’s, ah – there’s someone coming,” Elias attempted to talk through the haze. “You should…”

Peter groaned. “God. Can’t they just leave you alone.”

With the last word, Elias was stripped. Bare. Or the world was stripped from Elias. Alone. All knowledge was cleaved from him, leaving only what was stored in his head. He would have screamed from the absence of information if he wasn’t gasping from the equally sudden pain in his shoulder.

Peter drew back from him and his mouth was bloody.

“That wasn’t anything like last time,” gasped Elias, casting about to find something to see. Last time Peter had isolated Elias the disappearance of his surroundings had been a gradual muting. Not this sudden drop.

“I was careful last time.” Peter’s teeth were red – a wound on his faded watercolour.

The ferocity at which Elias’ eyes burned had Peter drawing back, his eyes betraying a glimmer of fear. But Elias felt human, and Elias didn’t give him the chance. He grabbed the front of the larger man’s shirt and pulled him in, the abrupt motion pitching Peter forward. He almost had time to make a surprised sound before Elias crashed their mouths together.

Peter almost missed the desk when he put his arm out to stop their fall. The arm that was around Elias tightened to press their bodies together. He tasted like copper and salt and was colder than what people should be. His teeth were somehow dull. His eyes had closed.

Elias found himself cataloguing everything about the man for the void at the back of his head.

Peter’s hands hadn’t stilled at all – they ran up his back, gripped his neck, cupped his cheek, rested on his waist, ran down his thighs. It would be endearing if he wasn’t wrinkling Elias’ very expensive shirt.

Elias let go of Peter’s shirt and slid his arms up Peter’s chest, resting his elbows on the man’s broad shoulders. Elias pulled at the grey hair at the side of Peter’s head and felt a moan vibrate into his mouth.

He pulled harder and Peter tilted up and out of the kiss. He leaned into his touch and waited as Elias surveyed his work. He was breathing heavily, his lips shining with saliva. Elias could barely make out the man’s light blue irises past his enlarged pupils.

There was nothing else for Elias to look at. He was cut off. Normally this would be the time to stop, check everything, remind himself that he was in a professional environment. But Peter, damn him, had made sure Elias couldn’t do that. He wasn’t uneasy about being on enemy ground, necessarily, but the sudden halt of information left him feeling empty.

In the emptiness, his shoulder ached. His free hand drifted to his neck and came away bloody. He glared at the man and grabbed hold of his chin, twisting it to the other side so he could hiss into his ear. His thumb smeared blood across Peter’s jaw.

“You’ve ruined my shirt.”

Peter took his hand off Elias’ waist to grab the hand holding his jaw. He turned his head and placed Elias’ bloody thumb in his mouth, sucking slightly. Elias could feel his face finally heat as Peter’s tongue ran its length. Peter finally pulled the finger from his mouth with a self-satisfied smirk. It came away wet and clean.

“I’ll see what I can do to make up for it.”

Elias was dragged to the edge of the desk unceremoniously. He made a displeased sound as his feet touched the floor, but it was quickly quieted when Peter bent down to bite at his lips. They stayed like that for a while, Elias pressed between the desk and the larger man, while Peter’s hands wandered some more. He laughed quietly when Elias shivered as his hands skimmed his lower back.

Warm air hit Elias’ chest as Peter lowered himself between the shorter man’s legs and started to unbuckle his belt. Like spring, a familiar dusty fear awoke in Elias’ gut at the warmth. He almost started to tell Peter to stop, to back out, but equal measures of pride and desire kept the words in his throat. He stayed silent as Peter undid his pants.

Peter hesitated only briefly before wrapping his lips around the soft plastic. It must have been awkward due to the shape of the packer, but Peter worked Elias into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks. Elias could almost feel Peter’s tongue moving around his dick. With each movement, it gently rocked into Elias, but not so much as to be pleasurable. The silence of the office was broken barely by Elias’ approving hum.

While it was very gratifying to see Peter Lukas on his knees with a mouth too full to make any aggravating remarks, Elias was never one to deny himself. Unhurriedly, Elias slid his hand beneath his strap and stroked his clit lightly. Peter admitted his inexperience gracefully and sat back to watch as Elias tipped his head back and worked his hand between his legs.

The silence of the nonexistent world around them kept intruding, though. He lazily glanced down at Peter.

“Why don’t you put your mouth to better use.”

The kneeling man went to move forward, but a foot at his hip kept him in place. Elias shook his head.

“Tell me something.”

Elias didn’t give Peter the chance to make the witty remark he knew was coming – the toe of Elias’ dress shoe jabbed Peter’s throat, stopping his retort. Elias sighed.

“Can’t you just cooperate.” His hand twitched and he tilted his head back again, letting out a louder sigh. “Just this once.”

Peter’s voice was dry and shivering. “What do you want?”

Elias wasn’t cruel. He didn’t say You. “What did you mean when you said you can’t control it?”

Several moments passed. Elias waited, stroking himself languidly. He wanted something out of this.

Peter began to speak.

* * *

I was eight.

They say to keep a healthy baby, you need to leave it in its crib to cry itself out. Then it’ll learn not to depend on help.

I don’t remember anyone ever coming to help.

The mansion was big.

I was in school until the second grade. Just enough schooltime to make friends and realize that’s what they were, then pulled. After that I was homeschooled. The big mansion was large and lonely. That was the last time I knew what that word meant.

My friends came to my house, at first. The visits I received from them slowly dried to a trickle until only one friend was allowed to see me. Sora. My closest friend. Only she was allowed through those mansion doors. Her shoes echoed in the hallways; that’s how I knew it was her. We’d play in my room, even though the mansion always scared her. She braved it for me.

My education didn’t bother to cover chemistry or physics. Instead I was geared towards business and history. I didn’t mind, though sometimes I wished I had been taught enough chemistry to know which compounds are safe to use with wood or which clean salt well.

My family’s house is on the ocean. Our boathouse is small, but I liked to sail the dinghy that rested there. It got me away from the crypt-like silence of the house. I loved the solitude out on the ocean – the changing waves and winds made me think I could sail alone for years.

I remember Sora asking me why I didn’t ever come to her house. She said her parents were wondering about me. I didn’t want to tell her I just didn’t want to go, but I said so anyway. The hurt on her face was obvious. I apologized immediately, wondering what had come over me. She left soon after.

Some time soon after that the fog rolled in. My family had been distant all week, avoiding my questions about avoiding me. When the fog settled over – _in_ the house, they disappeared entirely. I spent a week in there. My house was bigger than I knew it was, I got lost in room after room – finally, the front door appeared in the distance. It took me another hour to reach it, and when I did I flung it open. In front of me stretched a golden blue field. It was sunset, but the light that filtered through the fog cast deep blue shadows. As much as I wanted to leave the house, I didn’t run into the field.

So, I turned back and ran, not into the door again but around the side of the house. Down the back hill and towards the shed on the beach. I meant to grab the dinghy, to sail off into the mist and hope to find some way out of the weather – but instead I found myself stopping. I let my momentum carry me into the gentle cold waves, and I stood there.

The cold water washed up around my shoes but I stood still. The light breeze caressed my cheeks, and I knew that in only several more hours the sun would rise from that direction. I knew sunrise would find me still standing there, cold blue light on my face, alone and at peace.

I didn’t do that, in the end. The fog lifted much sooner than dawn came. My frozen feet made walking up to the house difficult. I fell several times, sliding back down to the beach, but I was calm. I knew that my return was assured.

It was after one such spill that I noticed it. I was sitting on the sand, back where I started, staring at my feet. A small wisp of fog danced around my wet shoes. Its mass had gone and the sky was clear, but some of it had stayed with me. Was it a companion?

At these thoughts the mist shivered and latched itself to my ankle. A terrible cold spread where it had touched my skin – the chill of the winter ocean my feet had been soaking in was nothing compared to the dread cold of the fog. It twitched and grew a tiny bit bigger.

I remember feeling scared then. It wasn’t a friend, but it was mine nonetheless. It detached itself from my leg. I got up and once again tried to get up the hill to my house. That time, I managed it. The house was once again occupied when I got back.

Of course, they all made fun of me for it later. My cousin Lloyd would always bring up how he only had to walk through a field of flowers, meanwhile I lost two toes to hypothermia. Dick. Although maybe that’s why I’m so much colder than the rest are.

Anyways, you’ve guessed what that little wisp of fog was. My personal Lonely. Its first meal was Sora, of course. It fed off of our friendship.

You see, my family had picked her out specifically for her attachment to me. Her despair at my increasing distance was obvious. Only, in the beginning, I wasn’t distant at all. I think I tried to save her, even – that’s why I remember her fading. But it hurt. Every time I tried to reach for her my arm would be smothered in fog, and I realized that if I didn’t leave her alone, I would be eaten as well.

So, I did. Our despair turned into her despair, and I only had to snub her a couple more times before she found herself in a room identical to my own, but she was the only person there.

* * *

Elias came, and not quietly.

He leaned back on his free hand, breathing heavily. Peter watched him, greedily absorbing any detail of Elias’ flushed cheeks, his parted lips.

“I think she found her way back to her house eventually, but there was no one there either. She disappeared and I didn’t hear anything else from her or her parents. When I grew up, I didn’t bother asking,” Peter finished, getting off his knees.

“Could you have picked a sadder story?” Elias breathed. Peter just smiled, rueful, and crowded Elias against the desk once more.

Elias only threw a limp arm around Peter’s neck as the larger man caught him in a kiss, too gentle to think about. Peter withdrew with a sigh and went to retrieve his jacket from the floor.

Elias’ lips twisted down. “A bit of a mood killer?” he asked, not bothering to try to clean himself up yet. Peter paused at the door. He dragged his gaze over Elias, still on the desk, pants open and eyes still glazed. A flicker of want crossed his features but Peter only shrugged and turned back around.

“It’s a story I have to tell myself sometimes.” He was out the door before Elias could process his meaning.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> skeletonprowler, did you create this entire arc just so you can write three sentences with simon fairchild?  
> yeah what of it
> 
> Peter Lukas said "girl your vibe is atrocious. can i fuck"
> 
> someone tell me if im close with my backstory i wanna know but i dont wanna listen


	7. The Archivist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jon collects information and Elias enters a controlled fall.

MAG 101.

Elias bent over his desk, scribbling at the forms in front of him. Facts whirled within his head. The media acquisitions were going smoothly so far, but sheer scale of the project was wearing him down. He needed to appoint someone to manage it for him once he’d laid the groundwork.

As it were, Elias had been at work day in and day out, balancing the news station, Jon’s assistants, his usual tasks as head of the institute, and his own investigations into the Stranger. It had been a month since Jon was taken by the deliverymen, and Elias was beginning to grow truly worried.

Peter, though, hadn’t made an appearance since the gala. It was just as well; Elias didn’t need anything more on his plate. He was certain he would be back. Just like Jon would.

The strange whine of a tape recorder. Laughter drifted into his office and clumped together in the space beside his elbow.

Michael had found his archivist.

“I’ve come to a decision,” Michael’s twisting voice said. “I’m going to kill you. Before I do, however, I want you to understand… even if it does go against my nature. So.” A sound of tearing and the archivist gasped. “Ask your questions.”

Elias listened, pleased. His first suggestion had stuck. He wondered if his second one would too. In any case, he felt better with Jon able to navigate the situation as he thought best. He was likely the only person in the world who had an inkling to what Michael wanted.

When Michael’s scream cascaded down to Elias’ ears, he wasn’t surprised. The woman spoke calmly, not betraying the threads of fear unraveling in her throat. Elias went down to the archives to pick out some statements for Jon.

* * *

MAG 102.

The archivist stormed up to his office, the Archivist on his heels. Elias sighed and pushed a stack of statements onto his desk.

His door crashed open. Jonathan Sims stood in the frame, evidently working himself to a rage. Elias could see from his desk that his breathing was getting more and more furious, his eyes following suit. The angry sunbursts of Jon’s mind popped around his head.

Elias remained unconcerned.

“Ah, Jon. You’re positively glowing.” Whatever the Stranger had been doing, it had worked wonders on his skin. It was clear, if sunken. Elias wondered if he had eaten anything.

At his words, Jon broke his stillness and crossed to his desk in long, stalking strides. He had been spending time with the Archivist.

“You useless bureaucrat,” Jon spat, emphasizing each word. His exclamation was punctuated by the click of a tape recorder somewhere beside Elias. “You do not get to sit at your desk and smirk at me. Do you have any idea what I’ve—" Jon pressed his mouth into a hard line, blinking.

Elias eased some pressure off him. “Look, Jon, I understand you’re upset.”

“A month, Elias.” His voice was shaking. “And you did nothing?”

Elias answered sincerely. “I was doing everything in my power to locate you. Everyone was working on finding the ritual site.”

“A lot of good that did!” Jon exclaimed, throwing his hands up. He laid them back down on Elias’ desk and leaned forward. “I am sick of relying on the kindness of things whose stated intention is to kill me.”

Elias finally scowled. This month had not been easy for him, and he did not appreciate having to do Jon’s work for him. He stood up from his chair and brought the Overseer to the forefront. Its many eyes narrowed at the archivist, but the anger Elias thought he would feel wasn’t present. Still, it was enough. Jon couldn’t see the Overseer – Elias wasn’t even sure he could see the Archivist – but something made him take a small step back. It would do him some good to remember Elias could be one of those things if Jon provoked him enough.

“I am sorry, Jon, that my powers have not yet reached the level of omniscience.” Elias leaned over his desk, irritation growing in his voice. “And I am sorry that I have to spend so much time trying to help you develop your own faculties, rather than explaining everything to you like a child. But you have a job to do, and I cannot fight your battles for you.”

Jon crossed his arms sullenly. “As far as I can tell, the only battles I’ve been fighting have been yours and Gertrude’s.”

“I should have thought preventing the horrific transformation of our world is not solely my concern!”

The archivist scowled. “Fine.” Elias let his black form fade back into his skin. “At least we know you’re of zero practical use.” Elias would have argued if he had been impressed with how he’d handled Michael previously. He wasn’t. It was a good thing it didn’t require subtlety.

His embarrassment was chased away by Jon’s eyes, now staring him down. Through them, he could see the Archivist’s undulating form. The Overseer strained towards it.

“So what do we actually know?” Jon asked quietly.

“Jon—"

“Don’t you dare,” Jon slammed his hand down, “’Jon’ me. If you want my help, I’m going to need some answers.”

Giving him an unimpressed look over his ultimatum, Elias nevertheless straightened and reiterated what little readable information was in Gertrude’s notes. The key players had been mentioned, but as far as the location –

“A wax museum. Old, mostly abandoned, I think. I don’t know exactly where, but—"

“That still narrows it down significantly,” Elias said. “I’ll have the others start digging.”

“How do we—" Jon narrowed his eyes at Elias. “How do I stop it?”

“Gertrude seemed to think that once the dance begins it is tied to its location. Sufficiently disrupting that might be enough to derail the ritual. She mentioned she had acquired something for this purpose, but she gave no detail as to exactly what that might be.”

“And you can’t just see where she put it?” Jon asked dubiously.

Elias shifted his weight. “She was…” He sighed. “She got very good at hiding things from me.”

Jon’s voice was as dry as the Sahara. “How embarrassing for you.” Elias’ mouth twisted. “Is there anyone else who might know what it is, or where? Aside from Leitner,” Jon shot him another angry look, “or Gerard?”

A starburst behind his eyes accompanied the new information. “Sorry? Gerard Keay?” The family name sent a thrill of fear up his spine. Elias hadn’t found the book in Gertrude’s possessions.

Jon froze. “Uh… yes?”

Jon didn’t know it was new information.

“Who told you he was working with Gertrude?” Elias demanded.

“No one, I … I just r-read it in one of the statements,” Jon said, backing away.

“I don’t think you did. You just _knew_ it.”

Jon sputtered some denials but Elias ignored them. He leaned forward, eyes shining.

“No, no, no, Jon, this is good. It’s a promising development.” It truly was; Jon had connected to the institute in a way few were ever able to. The only two living – well. The only two people currently able to do so were standing in the same room.

Jon’s eyes scattered around the room, avoiding Elias, the truth, his own flustered responses.

“No, its just – just deduction, or…” Jon trailed off, unable, for once, to rationalize it away.

“Is this the first time this has happened?” Elias pressed. The Archivist wavered inside Jon’s body, proudly stretching inside his skin. Elias received echoes of blindfolds and seeing the hilts of knives under plastic hands.

Jon collected himself. “Look, look,” he said, drawing the conversation back. “Gerard’s not really a lead. He’s dead, isn’t he.”

Elias decided not to pursue this newfound ability further. The man already looked like he was about to step out of his skin. The surgical lines carved into his flesh only strengthened that impression.

“Yes,” Elias said, “but I believe he and Gertrude travelled together shortly before he passed away. Perhaps if we could retrace their steps, we might find something.”

Jon’s shoulders slumped. “And by we, you of course mean—"

Elias was already leafing through the statements in his drawer. He ignored the old worries, throbbing. The Archivist wasn’t worried, and Jon was not cruel like Gertrude. He would not follow in her footsteps. Metaphorically speaking.

“I’ll see if I can hunt down a few relevant statem – Ah.” He stopped. A rage was ascending the stairs to his office, its hand tightly wound around its weapon. It shoved a student out of its way.

“Melanie is on her way up here with a knife. Could you talk to her for me?” Elias said, returning to his folders.

“S-sorry, what?” the archivist asked, bewildered.

Elias sighed. “She’s hoping that even if I see it coming, she’ll still be able to overpower me.” He gave the archivist a pointed warning look. “She’s wrong, of course, but I’d be keen to avoid that sort of struggle.”

“Ah, I don’t—" Jon’s eloquent response was interrupted by the door opening.

Melanie stepped in, keeping the knife behind the door. “Elias, hi, just brought—"

She stopped when she saw Jon. He instinctively put his hands up.

“What are you doing here,” she snarled.

Elias, still standing at his desk, continued to leaf through his papers.

“Put the knife down, Melanie,” Jon said. She took two steps towards him and he backed away. “Melanie!”

“Get out of my way!” she yelled, holding the knife out in front of her. “You haven’t been here, you don’t know—" as she spoke, the metal weaved in front of Jon, just waiting to cut. To hurt.

It would hardly be of great consequence – Jon was plenty marked from his other encounters. Elias spared an eye to wander Jon’s profile. The hunter’s cut on his throat had healed, and he had regained motion in his right hand, but the Stranger’s surgical incisions were still prominent red against his otherwise clear skin.

Elias’ hands moved slower as he thought. The knife weaved closer to Jon’s placating hands. The Slaughter in Melanie pulsed at the thought of drawing blood – and the Archivist pulsed too. Its eager eyes ran just beneath Jon’s hands, pushing outward. Ready to experience.

Elias stood, papers forgotten. Jon’s skin was a catalogue of experiences, and even more so his mind – he had emerged intact from direct contact with an impressive amount of forces already. Elias remembered collecting the rabbits from their den, killing each in turn and laying their forms out for inspection. A litany of bodies.

Elias had been at a loss on how to repay his god for all it had gifted him, for it had all the knowledge of the earth at its disposal already. But if he could grant it the knowledge outside of earth, outside this realm – if Jon could recite and detail the other gods – the Eye would be unstoppable. It would be stronger than any other entity. It would be able to claim the world.

The knife dropped onto a nearby filing cabinet and Elias was pulled from his visions. The door slammed behind Melanie. Jon had talked her down without losing any fingers – no matter. Melanie was bound to the institute, so he still had time. She was only going to get more violent.

“Thank you, Jon.”

“Shut up!” Jon hissed back.

Elias remained silent until he was reasonably sure Jon wouldn’t leave the institute entirely when he spoke.

“Have you eaten anything? I wouldn’t think the Stranger has catering.”

Jon clearly hadn’t considered the implications of being tied to a chair for a month. He was left staring at the ground, no answer forthcoming.

Whatever was running through his mind wasn’t likely to be productive, so Elias cut him off. “Here,” he said, holding out a statement. “This is dated around half a year before Keay’s death. It may contain something useful.”

Jon came closer to take the statement. As he did so, Elias saw more clearly the red lines marking his neck and collarbone.

“Before you leave, I would like to hear more about the Stranger,” Elias said, eyes tracing the cuts. “If you’re feeling up to it. It would be useful for my own investigations.”

Jon snorted derisively. “Your own investigations?” He reached out for the statement and Elias handed it to him. As he did so, his shirt shifted and Jon’s eyes alighted on the fading bruises on his neck. Jon froze in shock, arm outstretched, and Elias quickly retracted his hand and adjusted his collar back into place.

“Yes,” Elias said shortly. He hoped Jon didn’t see the still very visible bite mark on his shoulder. The bruises could be explained away but the teeth would be more difficult.

He cleared his throat and Jon, remembering himself, stepped away. “I will draw up an itinerary based on the relevant statements I find. If you find any yourself, send them to me and I’ll try to schedule them in.”

“Right,” surprise still coloured Jon’s voice. Elias walked over to a cabinet, rummaging around it to find his travel forms.

“Get some rest, Jon.”

* * *

MAG 103.

Predictably, Jon did not get any rest.

His earlier interrogation with Kurt Anderson sat low in Elias’ abdomen, humming with potential, making it hard to focus on the schedules in front of him. Elias usually loved the balancing act of time, but on that particular Wednesday he found himself staying late to finish everything.

His distracted state of mind may have been why he noticed the chill immediately. It seeped from a spot in space just inside his office door, leaking cold ocean air and salt into the room. Elias sat back. The schedules were as close to complete as he would be able to get them.

He increased his stare at the cold air until it rippled. An arm took shape, then a torso. Peter stepped into the room before he could be yanked into it, gruffly shaking out his coat.

“Don’t be shy,” Elias showed his teeth as the captain draped his coat over the chair and sat down. Unable to sit still, he rocked the chair back onto its hind legs - a balancing act.

“Been practicing?” he asked grumpily.

“All the better to see you with, my dear,” Elias replied. “What brings the captain of the Tundra to my institute?”

Peter shrugged, entirely too nonchalant for the energy buzzing around him. “We just docked, so I have some time to kill.” He stroked his chin exaggeratedly. “Hmm, what to do… I suppose I could catch up with Martin…”

Elias had walked around his desk to stand in front of Peter. The humming in his gut was markedly lower now, more demanding. He brought his knee down on the chair between Peter’s legs, sending its two front legs crashing to the floor. Peter tensed, taken by surprise. His hands reflexively grabbed Elias’ hips for stability.

“No,” Elias said casually, hands on the armrests, “I think you’re here to see me.”

Peter had schooled his expression into one of distant intrigue, but Elias could see the rapid heartbeat in his neck.

“Oh? And why would that be?” Peter asked, matching Elias’ casual tone. “If this is the welcome everyone gets, I think I should be seeing HR instead.”

“Just you. So far,” Elias said, and relished how Peter’s eyebrows drew together. “You have some apologizing to do for these.”

Elias undid the top button of his shirt and ran his hand along his collarbone, revealing the bruises just out of sight. Peter moved forward, tilting his head fractionally. Already looking to slot his head into place.

“You’re lucky only one person saw them,” he told Peter, and Peter’s eyes grew dark.

“This time,” Elias said, lowering his foot to the ground and stepping back, “please make sure they’re below my neckline. It isn’t appropriate for the workplace.”

Peter just smirked and followed Elias up, winding his arm around his waist and lifting him up for a hungry kiss. His other hand found his coat and as the mist seeped into Elias’ bones, Elias said, “Can we stop by my apartment? I have several things I need to pick up.”

They didn’t make it out of Elias’ apartment.

Some time later, Jon’s voice echoed from the tunnels. “If we had evidence Elias was an active threat, do you think your Section 31 would move against him?” In spite of himself, Elias let out a small groan.

Tonner’s reply was severed by a large hand gripping Elias’ jaw. Peter loomed over him, adjusting his angle to keep riding Elias.

“No no no.” Peter’s warnings were undermined by his lack of breath. “Look at me. You are not working right now.”

Elias thrust his hips up, earning himself a cry from the man above him. “My demise is being plotted as we speak, Peter. I can’t just ignore the police.”

Peter shuddered around the silicon cock. “Its not like you haven’t planned for that three times over,” he gasped out and resumed his pace once more.

Elias grinned. “True. Why don’t you make this more worthwhile for me, then. Earn my attention.”

Peter complied.

* * *

“… and the final stop I’ve charted for you is Pittsburgh.” Elias finished, handing the booklet to Jon. “Gerard Keay died in a hospital close to your hotel. I urge you to ask around. Practice your compelling.”

As Jon leafed through the booklet, Elias scrutinized him. The cuts were healing badly. It looked like Jon hadn’t cleaned them at all. Refused to touch them. Elias knew how to care for them, his fingers itched to do something about the inflamed lines, but he kept silent.

“I don’t need to tell you to return from this trip, I trust,” he said instead.

Jon spared him a withering glance before returning to the itinerary. “No. I’m coming back.”

“Good. The statements really take their toll on the others.”

That caught Jon’s attention. “You’re making the others record statements? Since when?”

Elias was reclining in his chair, enjoying the Archivist’s company while he could. “While I prefer to have you read them, the institute doesn’t come to a halt whenever you decide to pop out for a vacation. Martin has been helping out a lot since you moved in with Ms. Barker.”

Concern had pushed Jon’s eyebrows together, and anger held them there. “It wasn’t a vacation.”

Elias sighed, regretting his poor choice of words. “No, it wasn’t.” He asked despite knowing the answer. “Will you tell me what happened?”

“No, I don’t think I will,” Jon said sharply.

“I might be able to help—”

“You won’t,” Jon interrupted him. “You’ll only, what was it?” He cocked his head as if listening. Perhaps he was, because a moment later Elias heard his own words parroted back at him. “He could have interceded, perhaps even saved him, but he did not. And it was not out of malice – it was because he was curious. Because he had to know, to watch and see it all.”

Jon’s voice had risen with the words, and Elias found himself moving around his desk to him.

“Jon,” Elias said.

Jon was walking backwards, shaking his head. “That letter could have been addressed to you and nothing would have changed. Will I be the bones in your office soon, Elias? Am I already?”

“Jon.” Elias caught the man’s wrist, halting his steps to the door. Whatever he was going to say fled his mind. Under his palm, Jon’s flesh bubbled. Bumps rose and fell beneath his skin, like boiling water without the heat. A thousand angry eyes stared at him from within the scarred man. If Elias had thought he was accustomed to the feeling, he had been mistaken. This was of another calibre.

His vision blurred as he stared, slack-jawed, at the Archivist. Jon's wide eyes stared back, behind which, and now in front, hung more vicious eyes. Release me. Agonizing seconds passed as Jon stared at Elias, and Elias stared at the Archivist inhabiting Jon. Or, not inhabiting.

The eyes beneath Jon’s skin retreated as Elias let go of Jon’s arm, the reddening skin springing back into its unavoidable shape. The Archivist faded into the background and the two men were left looking at each other. Elias noted distantly that Jon finally had nothing to say. Instead, Jon took one shaky step back, then another, until he backed through the office door and was gone.

Elias was left alone in his office, chest collapsing. He had forgotten his place. He had forgotten the Archivist’s trauma. And now the only thing he could do was wait.

* * *

MAG 106.

Elias stared at the dark pool of ink. The paper within the drawer was ruined. The dark colour dripped slowly from the bottom of the drawer onto the hardwood floor. Already the drops collected there had stained the wood beyond saving.

Each droplet landed in the growing pool of rage that expanded under Elias’ ribs. He tried to breathe evenly, tried to calmly think through his reaction, but Elias had made a habit of being honest with himself - and he simply didn’t want to. He wanted Melanie to suffer for her transgressions. He wanted her brain to be wiped clean of the mere idea that she could ever touch him, ever come close enough to even inconvenience him.

He was past trying to keep up pretenses. He just sent a spear in Martin’s direction containing the knowledge that he wanted to speak with Melanie. Martin’s excitement at the prospect of drinks was at the forefront of his mind. They would see each other. But Melanie would not be joining them.

When Melanie finally opened the door, Elias had managed to calm his surface. He sat deceptively still behind his desk, listening to the drip of ink.

“Martin said you wanted to see me?” She already had her coat on. It was two in the afternoon.

“Yes,” Elias said icily. “I thought it was about time for a performance review.”

She laughed. “I, um, I didn’t even know that was a… well, there wasn’t anything scheduled.”

“No. Given the recent tensions in the office, I thought it was probably best if you weren’t aware of it in advance. Less time to prepare, you understand.” Drip, drip.

“So. Have a seat.” Elias gestured to the chair. “You’ve been with us a few months now, I believe.” Melanie sat down. “How are you finding it?”

“Is that a joke?”

“Aside from the obvious, I mean,” Elias said.

Drip, drip.

Melanie answered confidently, as if she had any say in the state of the archives. As if she held some semblance of power. As if he had to care about what she thought. Not a lot of useful direction, she said. Unclear expectations, she said.

Just underneath his skin - a simmering.

“So how have you been occupying your time?”

“Doing some of my own research. Into my own projects.”

“And plotting my demise?”

“When I get the chance, yes.” Melanie said unabashedly. She met his eyes, looking unconcerned. “I suppose that doesn’t look very good on my review.”

“Quite frankly, no.”

Melanie spread her hands, welcoming. “If you need to fire me, I won’t make a scene.” Black stains glimmered on her palms.

Elias paused to let the rage recede. The pool grew.

“I wish I knew the words that would make you believe me.”

“What, that you’re a literal dead man’s switch? For god’s sake.” She had the nerve to roll her eyes.

“No. If that was the only issue, I could have simply placed the knowledge in your mind. You already have doubts, though, and have convinced yourself that even if I’m telling the truth, I’m too dangerous to live.”

As he spoke, Melanie moved her head side to side with his words, bugging out her eyes. Mocking him from her false bubble of security. Elias’ fingers itched to burst it.

“Are we done?” she asked, contempt dripping from her words.

Elias tried to be reasonable. He really did. He warned her one last time.

“I can see almost anything I care to, read knowledge from someone’s mind or place it there, but I cannot change the nature of a person.” Melanie’s hand turned circles on her wrist, hurrying him along. Elias’ voice sharpened. “I am struggling to think of what could rid you of this misguided rage.”

Melanie remained unconcerned. “So, let me go! Or, kill me!”

She had made her choice. Elias dived into himself, pulling at the information he had gathered. “No. There are always other options. And I am not above threats.”

Drip. He emerged holding a bundle of veins.

“Threaten, then.” She leaned forward, challenging. “I’ve got nothing.”

“That’s… almost true. Your life is indeed shockingly absent of any meaningful connections. Your father was your last real anchor, wasn’t he?”

“That’s none of your business.” She was so sure of Elias’ incompetence.

Elias closed his eyes and breathed in, and the Overseer leaked from his pores, coating him in the thrum of power. His veneer fell away, and he smiled as he finally stretched his cramped limbs.

Melanie flinched as his posture changed. The shelves hummed in tune with the Overseer, and across the world the Archivist looked up.

It opened its eyes.

“Perhaps. Five years is plenty of time to grieve. It’s a real tragedy, isn’t it. Dementia? Especially so early. But he always remembered you, didn’t he? ‘Little moth.’”

Melanie’s voice was shaking. “Shut up.”

A pleased shiver ran over its skin.

He continued, finally able to ignore her words. He could see right through her, see her mind circling the precious memories of warm dinners and rainy pavements and huddling together over math textbooks. They would all be marred.

“Do you want to know what really killed him?”

The torrent of information the Overseer forced into her soft mind bowed her skull, leaked out of her eyes. He could see the flies growing in the cavities of her warm memories, the awful stench of rot pervading the pancakes her father used to make for her.

He leaned forward, teeth aching in his nonexistent mouth. “Awful, isn’t it? He really suffered.”

The Overseer weaved her despair into itself, limbs moving and collecting.

Words joined the liquid seeping from her face. “Take it back. Take it back…”

It spoke.

“I’m afraid that’s not really something I can do. I can promise not to make it worse though.” The sharp shock that traveled through her was delightful. “If I choose to, I can make you see it.”

It lowered its voice.

“If you try to interfere with me again in any way, I will drive that image so deep into your psyche that even if you are right - even if you live - it will be there every time you close your eyes.”

The fear that coursed through the body in front of him was magnificent. She was so weak – he could crack her head open and pour into it, make her relive her father’s deterioration, his rotting, could make her feel the flies laying eggs in his open sores –

And she knew it. Elias stirred from beneath the Overseer’s excitement, gently pushing it down. It resisted, straining towards the anguish, but Elias coaxed it back under his skin. They had done enough.

Elias settled into his body again, rolling his shoulders. His muscles felt sturdier, more present. He sat in contentment, studying her.

“That’s alright. Take your time.”

Melanie continued to cry.

“Tell you what, why don’t you take the rest of the day off. I’m sure you have a lot to process.” He shuffled around some papers on his desk. “Anyway, aside from all of that, I’d say your performance has been… satisfactory.”

He turned to his drawer to file them away, but the black mess of ink stopped him. He glanced at Melanie, still hunched in the chair, arms wrapped around herself.

Maybe he should have cleaned the ink beforehand.

Melanie didn’t move for a long time. They sat in silence until she collected herself. Elias waited a minute after her exit, then followed her out the door to get the janitor.

* * *

MAG 110.

Across the world, Jon fell off his chair.

He got up slowly, sluggishly. He had been trying to review his notes for two hours and had yet to flip the page. Elias frowned. Jon should have known to keep up his energy by now. Taking pity on him, Elias quickly wrote his address on an envelope, stuffing a statement about a fake cop into it. It was unlikely that it was the same cop that was following him, but at the very least it should help his energy.

Elias hesitated before sealing the envelope. Then, ripping a blank sheet in half, he wrote, ‘To tide you over’ on it in neat strokes. He considered it before drawing a small eye under the last word. He sealed it inside the envelope along with the statement and walked down to the mail room.

As he descended, he grew aware of furtive voices coming from the assistants’ office. Basira was speaking.

“We are not letting him get away with it. We need to do something. Because if we let him just—"

Martin interrupted her as Melanie entered the room, offering her a cup of tea. Elias was intrigued, but when he returned his attention after he had dropped off the envelope, they were gone.

Perhaps he should be making his backup plans faster.

* * *

MAG 113.

Elias typed out a text containing a flight number, an airport, and Jon’s name, and sent it to Tonner. The Stranger was keen to get its hooks into Jon again, and Elias wasn’t optimistic on his chances of escaping it a third time.

He watched as Jon stepped into the terminal and immediately turned in Tonner’s direction. His power had developed considerably during his travel, it seemed. The Archivist stood in his shoes, humming with new experiences. The two sized each other up from across the city and Elias smiled, pleased.

Elias hadn’t expected Jon to immediately come to his office, but it would’ve been nice to have been wrong for once. He watched as he gathered what assistants he could find; Tim was absent as usual and Basira was busy with a statement. Melanie, Martin, and Jon took Tonner’s car and set off; Tonner went to relay the message to Basira. At this point Elias half expected Tim to crawl out of an air vent and start throwing punches. He had no idea where he was.

Elias followed the car. As Melanie drove, the other two talked quietly about what had happened in Jon’s absence. It was good that they kept their voices down – Elias was sure Melanie wouldn’t appreciate being dissected by the archivist. The Archivist.

It was very much in Jon’s form, moving with him now.

Heated voices encroached on Elias, but he ignored them. That is, until Tim kicked at Tonner.

Elias snapped back to the institute. Tonner had produced Tim from somewhere and was now in the middle of a rather impressive capture suplex. Elias watched, astounded, as she slung the man over her head, bringing him crashing down onto the flimsy breakroom table.

It didn’t stand a chance.

The table disintegrated beneath Tim. Tim curled up onto his side, coughing and groaning, while Tonner kicked at him once in disgust and left the room. The two other employees on their lunch breaks had their mouths open, their lunches forgotten.

Elias hoped they were happy with themselves. He had lost sight of Jon. He dialed the first aid attendant.

But the voice from the receiver wasn’t Adam’s. It was Jon’s, albeit muffled. Elias could still hear him. He had taken his tape recorder with him?

Elias managed to get his point across about the accident in the breakroom, then hung up quickly.

“…insert memories?” Jon was asking quietly.

“Yeah, apparently! Although those weren’t memories, were they. It’s just… any information?”

“Did he say anything else?”

Martin paused, thinking. “I think she said he said that he couldn’t take it back? Like once it was in there?”

“That… would make sense,” Jon replied. “He’s always so insistent on learning - taking knowledge away would kind of go against his methods.”

Elias listened to the car pulling up to a storage unit, hoping the recorder would be taken along. It was. Their muffled voices echoed around the apparently crowded storage unit as they dug through Gertrude’s things. Elias still couldn’t find the car, but he could extract the address from Martin later.

The sounds cut off at the discovery of Jon’s tape recorder, Melanie’s furious growl the last thing Elias heard. He sat back, intrigued. He would have to explore that storage unit later.

* * *

MAG 114.

The assistants were talking to each other, at least. Even if it did mean that Elias’ position at the institute was in danger.

“Does this mean I get your chair?” Peter grinned, walking around the desk. Elias sprung up, positioning himself in a fighter’s stance in defense of his throne.

“If you try it, Peter, I’ll be going to jail for entirely different reasons,” he snarled.

Peter took an exaggerated step back, widening his eyes in fake fear.

“Oh! How could your employees bring themselves to threaten such a terrifying creature!”

Elias glared at the captain, but the man just relaxed his pose and grinned back.

Elias huffed. “Move that back, will you?” he said motioning to his chair, then went to fetch several key forms from his cabinets. Behind him, the chair was lifted and set down away from the desk.

Elias returned, papers in hand. “We’ll do this standing since you have the restraint of a five-year-old.”

Peter shrugged good-naturedly.

Elias spent the next hour explaining various forms to the man. He was reassured by Peter’s seeming familiarity with several of them, but still made a note for himself to create a guide outlining some of the more complicated features.

“I like to fill out the student allowance last, as it allows for the most leeway,” Elias was saying, rearranging the budgeting sheets in order of importance. Behind him Peter was examining the dark stain on the floor.

“Elias! Did you stain my nice floors?” he asked in mock horror. He looked closer. “Good grief, did you kill another employee?”

“He wasn’t - would you just focus for two seconds,” Elias turned to glare at the man. “If I come back and my institute doesn’t have its budget in order, I’m snapping your neck on the spot.”

Peter stood. “Now I’m wondering if you can even reach—"

He was cut off by the door opening. Elias whipped around, clutching his papers. Jon’s face was peeking into his office.

“Uh… is this a bad time?” he asked, eyeing his office.

Elias followed his gaze and was relieved to see Peter had disappeared. Still, his office was unusually messy, with papers and notes scattered on the table, his chair pushed back to the window.

“You should have thought of that before barging into my office,” Elias said. He sighed. “A little. Is it urgent?”

Jon shook his head. “No, I just… is your offer of helping with my compulsion still standing?”

Elias smiled, pleased and intrigued. “It is. How does tomorrow afternoon sound?”

“Yes, that’s fine. I’ll see you… then,” Jon said. “Uh, thank you.” He closed the door. Elias followed him down the hallway.

“Ah, is that why I haven’t heard from you?” Peter asked, watching Elias’ face. Elias quickly removed the smile from his lips.

“I would have thought you would’ve liked that,” he said, glancing up at Peter out of the corner of his eye. Peter flickered slightly but recovered.

“Very considerate of you. I did, actually. Had lots of time to think about how nice it is that I don’t have to deal with large amounts of paperwork on a daily basis and can just go and sail at any time,” he said, backing away as Elias slowly walked towards him.

“In fact, with all the free time I had I actually took up map making.” His back hit the cabinets, stopping him. “I have to keep my hands busy.”

“Yes, unless they wander,” Elias said distractedly. “Now please move out of the way, we still have the schedules to get through.”

Peter hadn’t realized he had been between Elias and his filing cabinet. He quickly stepped to one side, trying to conceal his embarrassment.

Elias continued his walkthrough of institute procedures, wondering what caused Jon to ask him for help.

* * *

“Come in, Jon.”

It was immediately apparent that Jon was nervous. He closed the door behind him and hesitated in front of Elias’ desk.

Elias looked up. “Sit.”

Jon obeyed.

“So,” Elias said, putting down his new pen and folding his hands together. “How would you like to proceed.”

Jon looked surprised. “Oh, I thought… you…”

“I do have some ideas, but it’s your power, Jon. You decide what you’re comfortable with.”

At his words, Jon’s staticky mind smoothened a little. He let out a breath.

“I would like to hear your options.”

“Your primary concern is your questions, correct?” Jon nodded. “I assume you’re having a hard time maintaining control over your compulsion. Turning it on and off when needed.” Jon nodded again.

“Well, I think that stems from a simple lack of experience. Some more practice will resolve this issue.”

Jon stared at him. “That’s all the help you’ll give? Just ‘go out and practice’? I’ve literally traumatized people—"

Elias held up a hand. “Which is why I’m offering my services.” At Jon’s confusion, Elias elaborated.

“I have a suspicion I’m more resistant to your questions than others, so you aren’t likely to traumatize me. Although I would appreciate it if you kept your questions strictly professional.”

“That’s… okay,” Jon said. “Hold on. If I successfully compel you—”

“Then you’ve earned that information,” Elias said. “I’ll try not to kill you over it.”

“Appreciated,” grumbled Jon. “So… where do I start?”

Elias shrugged. “I’m sure you have important questions, but start easy. How was your day?”

“Fine,” reflexively said the archivist. “Yours?”

“I spent the day volunteering at the local animal shelter,” said Elias.

Jon stared incredulously.

Elias couldn’t help half a smile. “Ah, I should mention that I won’t be telling you which answers were lies. You’ll have to get a feel for it yourself.” Jon continued staring. Elias spread his hands. “I said to start easy. I suggest you learn to differentiate truth from lie first, and leave your compelling for later.”

The first hour passed like every job interview Elias had ever had – Jon asked him questions and Elias lied outright.

Jon was frustrated. It wasn’t Elias’ fault that he was choosing questions difficult to fact check. He would have been better off asking what colour the sky was to understand how a lie felt, but Elias had already given him his hints. A little bit of critical thinking would be nice.

“When did you graduate?”

“1974.”

“Are you trying to make yourself seem younger?” Jon surprised Elias. Guiltily, he said, “I may have looked you up when I was trying to find Leitner’s murderer. Though you don’t look like you’re 70?”

Elias shrugged. “Perks of the job. And I moisturize.” He examined Jon. “You wouldn’t look 70 if you followed Nikola’s advice.”

“Don’t,” said Jon quietly. He was silent for a minute. His voice was targeted when he spoke.

“What’s the most recent book you read?”

“Catch-22.”

“Lie. What’s your favourite food?”

“Croissants.”

“Truth. Who’s your favourite institute employee?”

“Martin.”

“Lie. What time is it?”

“Half past four.”

“Lie.”

“Fine. Four o’clock.”

“Lie.”

“Quarter past five.”

“Truth.”

Jon let out a breath and sat back. Elias nodded his approval.

“Good, Jon. Did you find something?”

“Yes I, I think I did. It’s like a…” Jon faltered. “I don’t know. Somehow it just doesn’t line up.”

“The internal lie is inconsistent with objective fact. Try some more interesting questions.”

“How long has it been since you left your chair?”

“Six hours.”

“A lie.” Jon paused. “Good god, is it more?”

“No.”

Jon’s eyebrows disappeared beneath his hair. “That is… not healthy.”

Elias shrugged. “I had no meetings today.”

“Do you need to eat? To sleep?” Jon was grotesquely fascinated by the glimpse into his future.

“Yes.”

“Hm. Not… quite,” Jon said. Elias was impressed that Jon had caught the omission. Elias did need to eat, but not what Jon would call food.

Jon was looking at him intently. “Who are you?” The question had some weight to it.

Elias grinned back. “Natalie Portman.”

“Oh shut up.” Jon’s shoulders dropped. He leaned his head on the chair’s back, resting.

“Simple lies are easy to detect,” Elias said. “Half-truths less so. Would you like to try your hand at them?”

“I might need some help with those,” Jon said to the ceiling.

The next hour was spent by concocting various lies and half-truths about institute employees. They settled into a relaxed exchange – Elias would say a sentence or two about someone Jon didn’t know, and Jon would tell him which parts were false.

Jon stared at him in horror. “You’re telling me that our IT guy eats shredded cheese for lunch?”

“You have been given knowledge few have survived without being cast into madness,” Elias intoned. “Our burden is a heavy one to bear.”

Jon slid down in his chair. “I was not prepared for this,” he breathed.

Elias let out a quiet laugh. “Prepared or not, you’ve done well today. It is well past your hours, though, and I would rather not fill out any more overtime for you. Shall we pick this up later?”

Jon sat up and nodded.

“Good. Although I’m afraid tomorrow is a very busy day for me, so it will have to wait until next week.”

Jon thought. “Do you work on the weekends?”

“No.”

“Ah. If I come in this Saturday and you happen to be here, can I ask you some questions? On - on my own time, of course,” he added, foreseeing Elias’ rebuttals.

Elias screwed his mouth up, almost deciding to not come in that day. But the Unknowing was drawing near and if Jon couldn’t use his only gift…

“Very well,” Elias acquiesced.

* * *

The door opened and Elias was hit immediately with a question.

“Why are you doing this?”

Jon was examining him, hoping he had caught Elias off guard. He had, but the question was weak and tinged with Jon’s playful anticipation. He had been looking forward to bursting into Elias’ office.

Elias didn’t bother to glance up at him. “What, paperwork? The institute needs to run,” he answered. “You’ll need to learn to phrase your questions better.”

Jon closed the door, muffling his exasperated sigh.

* * *

Elias had barely started reviewing yesterday’s meetings when Jon knocked on his door. The archivist entered, looking more at ease without the bustle of the institute staff.

Elias frowned at the travel mug in his hands.

“You said you didn’t eat, so,” Jon said defensively, placing it on the floor beside the chair.

Elias sighed and cleared some papers off his desk.

“Don’t spill any.”

Jon moved the chair closer and placed the mug on the dark wood.

“So. From what I can tell, you’re comfortable with differentiating truth from lies.” Jon nodded. “Then you should be able to tell if someone shook off your question or not. I think it’s time to try compelling me.”

“Right. So I just… start asking?”

“I did say practice would greatly benefit you. Perhaps start with benign questions, so you’re sure your emotions aren’t helping you.”

Jon took out a scrap piece of paper from his pocket. He scanned it, trying to find one to start with. He put it away almost immediately.

“Um…” he looked around the office. “What do you think of Tim?”

“I think he’s very hardworking. And very polite,” Elias said. Jon’s question wasn’t even slightly compelling.

“What do you think of Tim,” Jon tried again, more forcefully this time.

Elias lifted an eyebrow. “I doubt raising your voice will make your questions more effective.”

Jon scowled.

Once again, the first hour was largely ineffective. Jon tried varying his volume, his pitch, his words, and Elias neatly deflected all questions. Sometimes he was rewarded with an unimpressed look from Jon at his blatant lies, but he couldn’t compel the truth from Elias.

Elias, for his part, tried to keep his answers consistent – wait three seconds to check for the compulsion, keep his face still, and be conscious of which finger he was tapping on the desk. But that turned out to be overkill.

Jon had paused, sullenly sipping his tea. Elias had returned to his notes to let Jon rest, but he was frustrated himself. Jon had done well on his previous interrogations – had even gotten to Elias. What wasn’t he getting now?

Elias sighed. Of course. Jon was goal-oriented and driven by emotions. The classroom approach wouldn’t work here.

“Perhaps I’ve misjudged the situation,” Elias admitted. Jon looked at him over the rim on his mug.

“You’ve had no trouble engaging your compulsion in the past, but now you’re struggling to even get a hint of it. I think we may have to, hm, step right into the deep end,” Elias said. “I believe you’ll benefit more from asking questions you really want the answers to.”

Jon thought.

“Who was Gertrude Robinson?”

“A scuba diver.”

“No.”

But the words had been tinged with manipulation, and Elias smiled.

It soon became apparent that, when Jon was trying, his questions were hard to leave unanswered. His words carried with them a minimum requirement of truth. Elias could lie and shake it off outright, but if he answered the question under his own interpretation, he wasted less energy doing so. He could choose which combination of words would satisfy the compulsion.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Sasha, if you knew all along?” Hurt traced Jon’s words, which in turn traced Elias’ skull. He shivered.

“We’ve been over this. You wouldn’t have believed me.”

Jon had caught his shiver.

“You said my questions feel different to you than to others?”

Elias chuckled, feeling phantom fingers on his cheeks. “I rather think so. Otherwise I don’t think you would be getting hurt nearly as much.”

Jon looked uncomfortable. “How does it feel?” he asked hesitantly, like he didn’t want the answer. There was no compulsion.

Elias stayed silent, then finally decided on, “Nice. Distracting,” he added.

“Oh. How do I… not do that?”

“I don’t know. Ask your colleague,” Elias answered.

“What colleague?” Jon asked. Gentle touches massaged the answer up Elias’ throat.

Elias’s eyelids fluttered, and he leaned forward with the motion of the hands, tugging him into Jon’s mouth.

Jon asked again. “What colleague, Elias.” Insistent.

Elias leaned into their touch. “Archivist…”

“Yes?” Jon answered, but Elias only laughed.

He asked for a break. Elias was tiring but the Archivist was only getting stronger. He rested in his chair as Jon went to get something to eat. The Overseer twitched beneath his skin, annoying him. It hadn’t helped any.

Jon returned smelling of smoke and chips. At Elias’ silent judgement, Jon said defensively, “At least I ate something. I’m doing better than you.”

Elias ignored his remark. “What do you think is the significance of your lighter?” he asked.

Jon looked puzzled and pulled it out to look at it. “I’m not sure… is there one?” he said, voice empty.

“Maybe you should think on it,” Elias said. “It’s a bit suspicious, isn’t it?”

Jon tucked it away. “I thought I was the one asking questions.”

“Fine. Then I suggest you start experimenting with combinations of compelled and plain questions. For maximum effect.”

Jon’s list of questions was surprisingly comprehensive. He had put no small thought into it. It included everything from Elias’ motives to information on other avatars to Jon’s own transformation. By the time he started repeating questions Elias was noticeably drained.

“Who are you?”

“Your boss,” Elias gritted out. His overstimulated mind no longer registered light fingers – instead the compulsion was a heavy rope being slung around his neck. “And I would appreciate it if you remembered that from time to time,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You offered. Which - why did you offer?”

“I was curious,” Elias said. Previously, that would have satisfied the question. But now it gnawed at him, demanding more. Elias held out for several more seconds, then said, “I believe I mentioned Gertrude hadn’t tried to compel me. I wanted to experience it. I suspect—”

Elias cut himself off. The question had been satisfied – he shouldn’t have kept talking. Jon had loosened his lips. It was good that Jon was new to this – he hadn’t noticed.

“What do you suspect?” Jon’s curiosity muffled the compulsion.

He gave Jon a small wry smile. “I suspect you’ve lost your concentration.”

Jon huffed and returned to his notes.

“Why did you traumatize Melanie?”

Elias shook the question off his ankle. “Careful, archivist. Don’t throw away the good will you’ve collected with me.” Elias softened his warning. “That was a good attempt. Though try to make it a bit stronger.”

“Why?” asked Jon. Elias didn’t find compulsion in his voice but still answered honestly.

“It was subtler than the rest. Much less likely to be caught.”

Jon was quiet, trying to memorize how he had asked. “Elias, how do my questions feel?”

Elias blew out a breath. “Like knives.”

“No,” Jon muttered. He raised his voice again. “Why are you doing this?”

“I don’t want you killed.” It was almost true.

“Who are you?”

Elias ground his capricious words between his teeth. He stayed silent until they dissolved in his mouth.

“Why did you leave me in that wax museum?”

The noose tightened and the only way to live was to tell the archivist the truth. Elias didn’t answer.

“How do my questions feel?”

“Like falling.”

Jon shook his head. “Almost.” He squinted at the floor.

“Give me a regular question now, Jon,” Elias said. “Please.” If Jon had asked, he would have used the word pleaded.

“Why are you helping me?”

He expected the vowels to drop lifeless to the floor. Instead they squirmed towards him, writhing up his legs. Elias kicked at them, but couldn’t help but slip out, “I owe—". He glared at Jon.

“My mistake,” sneered the archivist.

“Enjoying yourself?” Elias bit out. His shoulders were aching from being tensed so long.

Jon’s body was darker when he replied. “Yes.” Five eyes blinked at him. Ah. So he was getting help.

If that’s how the game was played… Elias brought the Overseer to his skin. He was immediately awash with the need to give, to give and not stop, the Archivist could have whatever information it asked for—

Elias clamped down on the Overseer like irritation. Christ. They had a job to do. Elias sighed. He would receive no help from that smitten thing.

“Who do you owe?” The question wound itself around Elias’ neck tightly. It was powerful. The answer wormed its way up Elias’ throat like a badly swallowed pill.

“You,” he growled.

“What do you owe me?”

“Nothing!” Elias spat out. It was the truth.

Jon flinched at the genuine rage in Elias’ voice but his voice remained steady.

“Who are you?”

“Elias Bouchard. Head of the Magnus Institute.” Elias shuddered. “I thought you would have heard of me by now.”

Jon was fixated on a spot just inside of Elias’ skull. “That’s a lie,” he said. “How is that a lie?” The compulsion was absent. “Why don’t you ever tell me anything?” he asked, voice raising.

The weight of rope was lifted from Elias, and in its absence he found himself angry. “Because that’s not my job!”

“What is your job?” Jon’s voice matched his own.

Elias was no longer being compelled, and he didn’t care.

“I keep the institute running. I organize the paperwork. I look after you,” Elias snarled.

“What am I?”

“The Archivist.”

“What is your job?”

“To act.”

“What are you?”

The compulsion hit him with force, disintegrating the floor underneath Elias. Elias didn’t speak – he plummeted. The words hung, shining, where his mouth had been.

“The Overseer.”

Elias’ chest was vacant for the first time since Jon had entered his office. If Elias was a generous man, he would have said vacant of air. But he was not. It was the first fully true answer he had given.

Jon grabbed hold of the unearthed root and started to pull. “What does that mean.” An almost desperate sort of recognition flickered behind his eyes.

If Elias wanted to finally be known as the Overseer, if he wanted the Archivist to finally open his door, all he had to do was leave the ground to be dug up.

“Enough, Jon!”

Elias severed the root. Jon’s list of questions disappeared from the man’s mind and Jon reeled back, mouth empty. Sometime during the interrogation, the two men had gotten to their feet.

Elias held the barricade for two seconds more, then collapsed it. Before Jon could get its shape. Before he could learn how to dismantle it.

Jon growled in frustration. “How come I serve the only power that cuts me off from anything meaningful!” He slammed his hands down on Elias’ desk once more.

“Meaningful?” Rage splintered his skull. Elias showed the whites of his eyes. “We deny you meaning? It wasn’t meaningful to feel your flesh cooking under a wax hand, to glimpse how it feels to drown in a god?”

Jon froze. He opened his mouth to deny it, but Elias didn’t give him the chance.

“I have let you be marked by so many powers because that is the one thing you seem to recognize. You’ve felt the reckless abandon of falling, finally without consequences. When you sat in that wax museum in anonymity, you were finally, blissfully, unable to hurt those around you. You’re trying to say that wasn’t meaningful? You’re lying to yourself, Jon.”

In another life Elias would have moved around his desk to advance on the archivist, backing him into a wall. In another life Jon retreated, denying everything. In this one, neither man moved from their places. The Overseer kept feeding the archivist memories, bowing his head.

“Didn’t Michael’s twisting corridors feel like release? A respite from trying to make sense of the world around you? You knew the Distortion against all logic. You knew family when you ran with the pack.”

Elias lowered his voice.

“Your first encounter as the archivist. You felt the worms embrace you. I know you did. You heard their song, Jonathan. You haven’t been able to forget it.” Jon shivered. “You finally understood how to love what loves you. You were wanted.”

He leaned in.

“Meaningful, Jon? How did it feel like to truly _see_?”

Jon’s back tensing was answer enough. They stood in silence. Jon didn’t move.

Elias sighed.

“I’m not cornering you, Jon. I appreciate you hearing me out. Everything you’ve done here is meaningful. Just because you don’t have any scars to show for it doesn’t mean you haven’t progressed.”

Jon regained his breath and straightened again. He didn’t look destroyed or hopeless. He looked like he had asked a question he knew the answer to and was now free from it.

“Why don’t I?” he asked. “Why haven’t you marked me?”

Light fingers slid down Elias’ jaw again. He answered truthfully.

“I don’t need to.” In another life, Elias would have Jon against the wall, gasping under his teeth. But, even if Jon wanted that, it would be redundant. And inappropriate.

“And,” Elias continued, “I won’t be telling you what separates us. Because I’m not your primary concern right now. You have a job to do and you need to focus on it. I called you here because I suspect that your questions will save you. Your eagerness to know. And if you come out of that wax museum alive, then maybe we’ll talk. If it’s necessary.”

Jon’s face was, for once, unreadable. Elias sighed again. “I think that’ll be all for today. I’ll let you know if I find anything else on the Unknowing.”

Elias sat, spent. Jon didn’t run. He stayed at his desk. His face was still but his mind circled Elias’ words.

He opened his mouth once, then shut it. Then again. “Would you—”

“I only said I didn’t need to mark you. Nothing about any… personal inclinations I may have.” Elias had talked too much – was too candid in his weariness. He frowned to balance out his honesty.

“Wouldn’t it make sense to do something, to – to ground me? Or connect me back to y—the institute? I’ll be in the middle of the Unknowing. If you’re still insisting I go.”

Elias laughed weakly. “I am. And no, I don’t think you should be relying on your skin for your identity. Especially not with the Stranger.”

Jon’s lips turned down in disgust. Almost disappointment.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to find a way to reclaim your skin yourself. I noticed you didn’t clean your cuts.”

“I… they felt…” Jon sighed. “They felt strange.”

“Yes.”

Jon fiddled with some loose paper on Elias’ desk. Then, nodding once, he retracted his hand and picked up his forgotten travel mug.

“Before you go,” Elias said, feeling time shortening, “you should, ah, dig into the skin the Stranger took. Pun not intended.”

“What, George Icarus? Who was he?”

Elias dipped his head in appreciation at the absence of compulsion. “You’ll find out, I’m sure. Are you aware of the Greek myth?”

Jon drew his eyebrows together. “The man who flew too close to the sun?”

Elias smiled.

“Something like that. Enjoy your weekend, Jon.”

* * *

MAG 116.

“Elias.”

“Peter. I’d like to call in that favour.”

* * *

MAG 117.

Jon’s words spooled onto the tape. He wasn’t ready to face a fully realized ritual. Elias just hoped it wouldn’t come to that. But he needed to learn to act. Or die. Both in Elias’ stead.

Martin and Melanie were very clearly planning something. It seemed to be a very simple plan – so simple that Elias had found no planning or setup to disrupt. He would have to think on his feet for this one.

Like the rest of them.

Tonner was competent – Elias had put no small thought into the matter before feeding her some tips on building demolition. She would do her job well, at the risk of knowing how to bring the institute down. Tim, on the other hand… If Jon didn’t ruin their plan, Elias was sure Tim would. But their current arrangement was better than trying to leave Tim behind. So Elias tolerated it.

A sharp burn had Elias at his door before he even registered the side-spasming pain. His skin lit on fire along with Gerard’s as Jon burned the page, two floors down and too far away. A wealth of knowledge on Gertrude, gone up in smoke. He was too late. As he waited for the pain the subside, he cursed at Jon, and took small pleasure in the fact that it had definitely hurt him too.

Elias was too late.

Elias was always too late with that damned book.

* * *

The darkness did nothing to conceal the museum. That was solely the Stranger’s work.

Elias squinted at it through the layers of strangeness caked obnoxiously around it, and his pencil traced what he saw. The building took shape on the page beneath his hands.

He had not attempted this before as he did not trust that he would see the correct version of the museum through the glimmer. The group had left with the official floorplan of the building. But Elias hadn’t been able to rest, could not focus on anything but the impending ritual, so he sat in his dark apartment and drew.

The rooms he saw now were fewer than what was on the building’s official floorplans, some having been merged with the central hall to enlarge the space. They were not major changes, and didn’t pose any risk if the group was careful about opening doors.

He would send this version to Peter in the morning. Surprisingly, he was almost confident that this layout was correct. It felt right.

His gaze strayed several city blocks south. Within the small bed-and-breakfast, three people lay awake, eyes staring into the darkness. Basira slept.

The Archivist lay on his back, gazing up through the roof, eyes distant. After a minute, his eyes flickered, and he met Elias’ own.

Elias snapped back to his apartment. Looking down at the map, he frowned, and reached for his eraser. The lines of the Archivist’s face disappeared beneath it.

* * *

MAG 118.

A fucking locked door.

That’s what Martin’s plan had boiled down to. Elias stood at Jon’s office door, unable to do anything about the burning papers just on the other side.

“Martin.” He tried the doorknob again with no results. “Unlock the door. Now.”

Martin’s smug voice crawled from under the door. “I thought you had a key.”

Distantly an organ started to play.

“Martin!”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Elias kicked the door in frustration, then set off to get the key from his office.

Forsaken was being as helpful as it could under the circumstances. A world where nobody knew anybody was hardly conducive for feeding off connections. The archival staff were surrounded in a bubble of isolation for now. Though, Elias could somehow hear their voices, sounding strange and distant, buzzing around his head. He hadn’t thought anyone had brought a tape recorder.

He shook his head, taking the set of keys off its hook, and sent a line of information to Peter. They had moved into the southernmost room.

Another nail in his temple accompanied another burned statement. Elias unlocked the door clumsily, hurriedly, and strode into the room.

“Hello.”

Martin was sitting at Jon’s desk, feeding the last pieces of a statement into the burning wastepaper basket. The webbed lighter gleamed merrily between his fingers.

“What. Are. You. Doing,” Elias snarled.

“Oh, I’m sorry, can you not just look into my head? Read my mind?”

Elias stayed silent. The group had moved positions again.

“What’s wrong? Too busy trying to keep an eye on everything?”

Not for the first time, Elias wished he could compel people.

“Tell me what you’re doing, and why.”

Martin lazily picked out another statement and dropped it into the basket. The account of flesh was consumed immediately. Elias’ temples throbbed.

“Maybe I just thought it might hurt.”

He lifted another statement from the desk and dangled it in front of Elias. Its faded writing stared at him, almost pleading.

“Albrecht von Closen is next, I think. It’s quite an old one. Should go up quickly.”

Elias resisted the urge to vault over the desk and hit the man with the heavy hole puncher; HR wouldn’t overlook bodily assault. It seemed that Elias wasn’t getting rid of Martin quickly. He brought more of his attention to the office.

Martin looked at him boldly, but the doubt behind his eyes churned, curdled. There were a lot of things Martin hadn’t planned out. If he had even planned anything.

“Did Jon put you up to this?” asked Elias. “It’s just the sort of half-baked scheme he’d come up with, and I am well aware that you’d do just about anything for him. And I don’t,” he said, stopping Martin’s retorts, “need to read your mind for that one.”

“What, I don’t get to be angry? I don’t get to burn things?”

“Please get to the point, Martin.” With a jolt of fear, Elias realized he couldn’t see Jon anymore. The glimmerings of the Stranger had gotten too powerful, and Elias hadn’t been looking.

“Maybe there isn’t one,” Martin said, defiantly. “Maybe—”

“Maybe you’re just wasting my time,” Elias said, anger stepping, shuddering, up his spine. The Archivist was spiking outwards, searching for sense. He was killing Jon.

He had struck a chord. Martin’s eyes had turned more honest. “Yeah. Yeah, maybe.”

“I see. That puts me in a difficult position.”

“Good.”

The organ grew louder and a door opened. Jon’s voice was hushed with awe.

“You might want to turn the tape off, Martin.”

The tape stayed on.

“Hm. A pity. Jon listens to all of them.”

Jon wouldn’t forgive Elias for his actions. He almost wondered, if it came down to Martin or himself – Elias severed those thoughts. He knew the answer. And as useful as Jon’s answer was, Elias wouldn’t lie to himself – he didn’t like it.

A shrill voice spoke on the recorder. Elias hadn’t told the Lukases where to focus, and now Jon was in the epicentre of the Unknowing. Defenceless. And not alone. Sounds of violence meandered down to the institute.

Martin had been speaking but Elias didn’t care.

“Let’s just get this over with, shall we?”

“I hope you’ve got something better than that pathetic dig at my feelings for Jon.”

Nikola’s shrill voice sounded on the tape, then dissolved into nonsense. Elias had never heard the tape shout nonsense at him before, and the unfamiliar, the wrong information rose like sickly fever in his brain.

He could tell Martin that he had just most likely killed Jon. Right then and there. He wanted to. But he had a feeling he would need that information for later.

So he let the Overseer fold itself into the room instead and slunk into it, seething.

“I’ll have to go with what I had prepared.”

Martin already knew his mother hated him. The fear he secreted at Elias’ words – “Your mother simply hates you. You just don’t know why” – paled in comparison to Melanie’s, but it was still enough to embolden the Overseer, make it stretch its long limbs and push them into Martin’s scattered mind.

Martin had also been thinking about Melanie. Had been wondering if he had bought her enough time.

Elias jittered into the Overseer against his will, his own fear making his skin stretch over its unfolded limbs, its rolling body. He gasped at the feeling of existing within that other world, just for a second – then gravity forced him down again.

“Don’t burn any more statements,” he hissed at the sobbing man, then stalked off to his office.

His drawers were emptier than he had left them, but he couldn’t remember what had been inside them. The circus music was too loud and his mind was too fragmented. He glimpsed red cloth, green streamers, pink flesh. Then the wax museum bulged outwards, resembling a circus tent for a split second, and was ripped apart.

And Jon – Jon winked out of existence.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is it obvious that melanie is my favourite character :/  
> its not an exaggeration when I say I now know every elias conversation by heart  
>   
> and just want you to know that, while I haven't written it, there is absolutely a scene somewhere in here where elias says that one Gone Girl line: "I've killed for you. Who else can say that?"


	8. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Act III.  
> In which circums[tenses] change and Elias watches.

Jonathan Sims lays in a small hospital bed, not cradled or swathed. The building, the walls, the light cutting in from the window illuminating the crisp sheets, even the liquid dripping into his body – they’re all white. Jon’s body is not. Dark stains grow underneath bandages wound tightly around his limbs. Limbs that wouldn’t move even without the bindings. The liquid isn’t red – not anymore. And it doesn’t stop pouring.

People move around him and Jon doesn’t respond. Days pass, then weeks, and Jon doesn’t wake. He doesn’t get better and he doesn’t get worse – he simply remains. Nobody except one can even be sure that he lives.

Elias sits in his cell. He is alone and static. He does not sleep; he does not eat. He sits alone in his cell and watches the archivist.

The archivist first screams, then cries, then finally is silent. He learns to live with the cold in his bones. Now he walks, unfeeling, not tiring, between the dreams he has claimed. It is always dark, yet the archivist still sees.

He sees the dreams of the doctor, the exterminator, the commuter. He sees them in pitch dark and through walls and across great distances. He wishes he didn’t want to see them. But he walks forward all the same. His wish is granted at the yellow door, and along with it the luxury to turn away. He does, every time. Every thousand repetitions he hesitates at it. Once he even lays his hand on it. But it quickly retracts as he feels its warmth, its living hum. It doesn’t belong to him.

It Is Not What It Is, And It Is Not For You.

Elias had heard the description of the wet pavement firsthand, the downpour dropping from the heavens like a flood. The archivist looks down the road, waiting for something to come barrelling towards him – a purpose or a hunter or the morning light – but the road simply disappears into the pounding water. Behind the clouds looms nothing but his god.

Elias wants to know if the archivist knows she is dead. He wonders if it matters to him. He wonders if he will detach completely from those that visit his body sometimes. He has to wonder because the archivist is empty. He is empty of all feelings except a slight echo of fear, and something else – Elias would have called it devotion or obligation, were he human.

The archivist tugs open the casket. He descends, and this time Elias can descend with him.

The archivist fears the worms and it does not matter. He fears the burning ghost of the hive and it does not matter. He fears the hunters that stalk towards him and it just doesn’t matter anymore. If his heart was beating he would have felt it shudder at the woman’s pitying gaze. She meets his eyes but even that does. Not. Matter.

Because the archivist is empty.

The archivist has been wandering. He has not found that which will fill him, give him new life and strength to rise from his unfelt hospital bed. Its stalking figure is absent from his dreams. He knows, vaguely, what he’s looking for. Dreads it. But if he was truly afraid, he would not keep walking.

He looks up. Finally, he sees what has been seeing him for years. Decades, even. It knows him so entirely that he cannot pretend, cannot bring himself to try to put up any defenses, to shield himself – this is his culmination. The certainty echoes in his hollow insides; this is perhaps the last time he will be empty ever again. He knows this.

The Eye does not beckon. It does not need to. He falls – no, he rises, up to that impossible pupil, and in its watery centre he is cradled, held tight against the bindings of gravity, of memory, of identity, and He

Is 

Whole.

And still he does not wake.

Still he is separate, still the dreams eat at him. Or he eats the dreams. They do not change, but the archivist does. Slowly, slowly, he walks inward, a spiral pulling him towards that yellow door. His fear wanes. The Archivist solidifies. And his need to know grows stronger.

* * *

Elias supposes he is jealous of the Distortion, in a way – it has captured Jon’s interest like nothing else has. But if that’s the Archivist’s door out of his head, Elias won’t complain. At least then he’ll have to wonder no more. Jon will always be drawn forward by his connections.

It is easier to live through the Archivist’s absence this time.

It’s the knowing that makes it easier. Somewhere along the way Elias had lost his doubts about the archivist. He knows that he will – does – make a good partner for it.

Elias idly rocks his ankle and stares up at the ceiling. If he wanted to, he could lift his hand up and match the cracks in the ceiling to the cracks in his skin. He doesn’t. He puts them down to the harsh soap they’ve supplied him with and keeps his hands behind his head.

There are many other things about his position that Elias would mind if he was anyone else. The lack of windows would be maddening, the stark fluorescents irritating. The starchy cloth beneath him does not give under his weight. He’s being kept apart from everyone except a few trained staff so the boredom would be suffocating.

But Elias had always been adept at staring at walls. And now that the harsh fluorescents are blissfully off, his greatest discomfort is his peeling hands. They ache like muscles unused.

The darkness in his cell is nearly absolute. The light spilling in from the grated door isn’t enough to illuminate the room, but Elias can see everything regardless.

In twenty minutes the morning bell will sound. Until then Elias will watch.

In an apartment next to the prison, a woman is copying pictures on her screen, twisting the rope in and around itself. It is slow going – she stops every minute to look away and heave a sob. Elias watches her through the laptop camera. He can’t decide which is stronger – her fear of death, or her fear of finally being able to carry through with it. Finally having the information on how to do so.

It is not he who is in competition with Terminus, though, so he just lays on his hard bed and collects her fear. And their fear. And her fear.

Across the city, people are being afraid.

It sinks into the veins trailing just beneath their lives easily. They switch on their televisions and the news is too pointed, too unsettlingly accurate to their lives that they turn away hurriedly. They can’t stay away, though. The channel follows them until they can no longer look away from their spouse’s weekend activities or from the static image of their own apartment.

No one else can see it, they are told. They are alone in their experience.

The fear sinks into the veins and the veins burst under Elias’ weight. They pop and squelch underneath his shoulders until Elias forgets that he is laying on a small cot.

In ten minutes the bell will sound, but until then Elias floats, then sinks, into the rolling mass of fear.

The news channel is doing well. Its stark light illuminates dreading faces and the Eye trails its gaze along every single one of the people watching their screens, watching back. Their experiences feed into the veins and Elias no longer has to look – he can run his fingers along the untuned strings until a face or a name or a feeling catches on his hands and drag it out into the open. He can turn it over, examine it, bring it to his lips –

The morning bell jolts Elias out of his reverie. He hadn’t managed to get accustomed to its blare in the two months he’d been in the cell.

The deafening sound had barely stopped reverberating when footsteps start down his hallway.

He sits up, smoothing out his t-shirt and running his hand through his hair. Amy Liu unlocks his cell and steps in, not surprised to see him already holding his hands out in front of him.

She clicks the cuffs on, not gently nor especially harshly. She got that out of her system months ago.

“Something big?” Elias asks. He knows about the arsons already, of course. But Amy is the only one who speaks to him around here with a sense of humour.

And she humours him. “Yes. Lots of fire. Come on, they want to brief you about it.”

“I hope they’ve learned to be brief about it.”

“Yeah, well, it would take less time without you interrupting them constantly with your smug noises and whatnot,” Amy replies, following him out the door.

He glances over his shoulder. “Just part of the experience.”

“I would say it’s one of the worst, but they’re all just kind of bad,” Amy replies from behind him.

“At least I’m not Richards.”

Elias is shoved by the guard flanking him. “Stay out of our heads, freak.”

“It’s fine,” Amy says. “I told him that myself. Been asking for some advice.”

The guard shoots her a disbelieving look but quiets down.

Elias makes a note of the man. Tony Caruso. Very protective of Amy Liu.

A cup of sugary black tea is waiting at his regular seat.

Elias had only seen two of the four fires the detectives presented him with. He had only caught the tail end of the third as he was… indisposed, but he could confirm the presence of a dark-haired young man at the most recent one.

Elias reclines in the cushy meeting room chairs, rotating slightly. He clicks the pen in his hand. He hadn’t needed to use it so far.

“Big fires,” he comments. Swivels a quarter of a rotation. “And close together.”

He clicks the pen again and the nearest detective’s jaw twitches. Elias sneers at him.

“You might have trouble with this one.”

The woman at the end of the table impatiently says, “Do you have anything usable or are you just going to be cryptic?”

Elias slowly swivels to face her. Her prematurely graying hair is pulled back severely, stretching her skin.

He stretches his mouth to mimic it in a poor facsimile of a smile.

“Of course, inspector. If you give me a day or two to look into it…?”

“Fine,” she says. “But make it quick. You said he’s very active.”

“He might just die,” Elias offers. “These ones tend to burn out.”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “With your luck?”

His mouth stretches into a real smile. She had gotten her role right.

* * *

A new freckle had appeared on his wrist.

Elias hunches on his cot and stares at the unfamiliar piece of dark. His hands peel under his scrutiny.

This is almost all he does.

He looks at his hands and he looks into murders and he erases Jon and he thinks about the tunnels under the institute.

Tunnels which are shifting under their feet. Opening or closing, Elias cannot tell, but he finds himself walking them more and more often. The walls are becoming clearer.

In the opposite side of the city, a nurse once again tries to tell her boyfriend about her dead patient, and once again Elias clamps down on her grimly. Her words dry in her open mouth and she cannot proliferate Jon’s condition. Elias had trapped that particular vein – whenever it is accessed the blade drops, severing the parasite.

Elias has been acting as a blade a lot.

It is the only way he can act.

Jon is something of a novelty, and even the best-paid professionals are prone to gossiping about the living dead. Interest in the Eye has blossomed into a hunt for the Archivist, and Elias can’t let Jon be killed by a zealous cultist or a bloodthirsty hunter. Especially not in such a fragile state. He does not know how thoroughly the Archivists have merged. He does not know a lot of things about the situation. He makes sure everyone else doesn’t know either.

But he should let Basira know of the newly risen Desolation cultist. If he gets wind of the Eye, he may just decide to prove how big his wick is by setting the institute alight.

Elias very carefully does not beam Basira the information. The first and only time he had placed some knowledge into her she had… not reacted well. Elias was actually rather impressed with how she fast she had understood where her words were coming from. He was not impressed, however, with how she had immediately left the conversation to pour a litre of water into one of his cabinets, leaving the assistant librarian alone and bewildered. She had evidently taken a page out of Melanie’s book.

Elias hopes it is the only page she took.

Instead he rouses himself and reaches for the paper neatly stacked on the low table in front of him. He begins to compose a letter.

When he is finished with the letter he looks around for the Desolation. It has always been reactive to his eyes so he doesn’t look too hard. He will take his time with this investigation. When nothing immediately surfaces, he lets his gaze drift back to where it so often goes.

Jonathan Sims continues to lay in a small hospital bed. The building, the walls, the light cutting in from the window illuminating the crisp sheets, even the liquid dripping into his body – they’re all white. Jon’s body is not.

* * *

The prison is silent except for the distant shout of nightmares and Elias’ pencil. He’s curled up, leaning against the concrete wall, notepad on his thigh. He cannot draw the Archivist so instead he draws Jon.

He sketches out an ear, a nose, long hair. Jon’s face once again takes shape beneath his fingers, but he still sighs, frustrated. He can never get the mouth right.

The room smells of salt right before an exhausted Peter faceplants onto the small cot, knocking Elias’ skull against the wall. Elias hisses and glares at the fallen captain, rubbing his scalp.

Peter talks into the bed. “Could you please,” he says, words muffled, “be quieter about it. I was trying to sleep.”

Elias is very glad for the cover of darkness. Peter hadn’t seen who he had been drawing. He flips the notepad closed and sets it down on the table - he wasn’t making any progress anyways. Instead he tugs at Peter’s collar until the man climbs up onto the bed properly, and rearranges himself to sit cross-legged at the larger man’s waist, leaning on the wall.

Peter mumbles something about a nor’westerly wind into Elias’ pillow then falls silent. His breathing evens out almost immediately.

He’ll make fun of Peter for this later, of course. But for now, in the quiet night, Elias just hopes that he has the decency to provide some food for Peter’s Lonely.

He sleeps, solid on the bed, and Elias lets his gaze drift once more.

As the night grows older Peter’s bulk dips the bed less and less. When Elias next looks, Peter is gone.

Elias has never been kind. But he thinks that, if he was alive, he might have tried to be.

* * *

Elias swings his feet and leans forward, grinning. Peter leans on the wall to his left, already looking up at the ceiling in preparation for Elias’ remarks.

The captain looks thinner and paler to the point that, to the outside observer, it would look as if Peter was the prisoner. His air of defeat only compounds the impression.

It suits him.

Elias is a little disturbed to notice that he has no inclination to pick Peter apart for last night’s visit. He puts it down to knowing him well.

He decides not to prod. Instead, Elias needles at him. “Paperwork has you that exhausted?”

Peter very clearly struggles not to relax at the innocuous question. The safest answer would be yes, but Peter, like Jon, never knew what was good for him.

“The paperwork is tolerable. More so now that Martin’s functional again.” Peter picks up steam. “The timing was quite amazing. His mother… I can’t tell you how hard it is not to just swallow that one. So nicely lonely, all the time… He visits Jon way more often than he should.” Peter glances at Elias. “Are you sure you won’t tell me where he is?”

Elias’ smile had disappeared somewhere. “No.”

Peter blows out a breath. “I don’t get you two. He’s not even…” he shakes his head, discarding the rest of the sentence. “Anyways, you must be aware that Martin’s in love with your archivist. Which—" Peter finally turns to face Elias, “I’ve been meaning to ask you. How’d you manage that?”

“Manage what?” Elias asks grumpily. He didn’t especially like having to listen to Peter gloat.

“Like, I get one or two, but all of them?” Peter stares at Elias. “The entire archives staff is gay,” he says, disbelieving. “Don’t tell me you hadn’t noticed.”

“That sort of speculation is not appropriate,” Elias says.

Peter waves him away. “For you, maybe, but I can hardly help it. You’re telling me its just a coincidence?”

Elias shrugs.

Peter blows out a breath at Elias’ nonreaction. “You’re no fun.”

After a moment his grin returns in full. “By the way, I’ve had Martin rework some of your more lengthy procedures. Hope you don’t mind.”

That gets a scowl out of Elias.

“You wish you could rework my length,” he grumbles under his breath.

Peter’s eyebrows shoot up. “What was that, Elias?”

Elias sighs. Louder, he asks, “And you’re sure you weren’t just exhausted from running your new routes for Forever Blind?”

Peter doesn’t give Elias the satisfaction of looking surprised. “No. I know how to sail.”

“You do?” asks Elias blandly, getting up from the bed and stretching. His t-shirt rides up and he sees Peter’s eyes settle on his midriff through closed eyelids. Elias smiles, once again in control, and advances on the man.

“So, you’re saying that you have no idea,” Elias lightly circles Peter’s wrists, “why you fell into my bed last night?” He stretches up onto his toes.

Peter still has the nerve to look over Elias’ head. “I must have thought you were some other short, needy political prisoner,” he says to the ceiling.

“Oh? Have many do you have?” Elias asks, pulling the man’s arms down. He bends a little too easily.

“I’m not sure. They always like me more than I like them,” Peter replies, and does a good job of it, but the Overseer can see wavering behind his eyes. An uncertainty uncoils itself from behind those pale irises, an old worry. Not Elias’ problem.

“Can’t imagine how that’s possible,” Elias breathes. “Just seeing what you want me to do to you.”

Peter’s breath hitches almost unnoticeably.

As nice as the sound is, Elias can no longer ignore the footsteps approaching his cell. He lets Peter go and steps back, the man still bent for him, confused.

“And as much as I would like to indulge you, it seems the inspector needs me as well. If you’ll excuse me?”

Peter must see something in him, though, because instead of stepping into his Lonely, he follows Elias, stopping an inch in front of him. He searches his eyes. Ocean air chills their bones and Elias leans in, light, pressing a kiss to his lips.

But he’s only met with a breath of cold air. The door swings open.

Amy Liu is waiting for him on the other side.

“Any updates?”

Elias shrugs and holds out his wrists.

* * *

The Flesh’s little gang of wannabe Play-Doh hadn’t concerned Elias much. Melanie certainly had the time of her life, hacking and slashing at the meat, and Basira is a dangerous enough policewoman. He was uneasy about the Distortion’s help, but Helen hardly seems to have a sense of self enough to raise any kind of threat. So Elias decides he is probably glad that they had used its hallways to their advantage.

He would have chewed Peter out about leaving the archive staff to fend for themselves, but oh, Elias just knows Peter will make a distance pun or another, and he doesn’t want to hear it. And besides, protecting his staff is not why he hired Peter. They should be able to manage themselves.

Which is why Elias is now waiting in a visiting room.

The heavy door groans open and Basira steps in.

Deep bags under her eyes mark days of sleepless watching. Elias tries hard not to look satisfied.

She stands in front of the table to which Elias is cuffed to. He assumes this is her detective stance – arms front, legs shoulder width apart, face neutral. It’s quite imposing.

Elias takes a deep breath. “Just like old times,” he says.

Her face doesn’t betray her twinge of irritation. Instead, she says, “I have a lot of cleanup to do. Make this quick.”

He leans back as far as he can to look up at her.

“But it has been so long, detective. You wouldn’t like to catch up?”

She heads for the door. Elias sighs.

“I… am sorry to hear about your recent… run-in with the Flesh. I’m sure it wasn’t pleasant.”

Basira doesn’t turn back to him. “It was fine. It’s not like we were left completely alone,” she says, sarcasm biting at the walls.

“Yes, well, that’s what I would like to discuss with you.” His cuffs clink against the table. Basira turns around.

“Thank you. You two did well against the Flesh, but that’s only because their strategies and… areas of expertise are so primitive. For larger threats more nuance will be required.”

Basira remains stolid.

“I noticed you’ve been sleeping in the tunnels.”

“Get to the point,” she snaps.

“Fine,” Elias says. “It was dumb luck that the Flesh didn’t think to check for the tunnels. It’s a glaring flaw that can be exploited by anyone wishing to attack the institute. You need to block them off.”

“You don’t say,” Basira says flatly. “Well, if your eyeball can rent an excavator for us, then I’ll make sure to do so. Thanks for the tip.”

Elias sighs again. “You weren’t with us for the Leitner debacle. He had been living in the tunnels for a while. Crucially, he had learned to use one of his books to manipulate them and could change their structure however he wanted. Within reason.”

She’s intrigued, but she still says, sarcastically, “Oh, yeah. Let me just… go read a Leitner book.”

“You’ve been reading lots of other books,” Elias offers, “I think you’ve had your practice. And you are granted some level of, er, ambient protection from the Eye. I could help more directly, of course—”

“No,” interrupts Basira firmly.

Elias hadn’t expected anything else, so he simply inclines his head. “But I believe that if you take it slow you will be able to grasp the general rules with little trouble.”

Basira is quiet.

Elias lets her think. The only way to win Basira over is to let her analyse her way to him.

“Hm,” she finally says. “And you think this’ll prevent any future attacks?”

“Not prevent, no,” Elias says. “The attacks will, I think, continue. But at least then they won’t have direct access into the heart of the institute.”

“I thought that was you,” Basira says, scrutinizing Elias.

“It is.”

“Fine. But couldn’t you find someone else to do it? I’m busy.”

“I could. But they wouldn’t be around forever and,” Elias faintly smiles at her, “you can only trust yourself. Plus,” he continues, “your… strengths… are quite in line with this task, so I thought you might want to try your hand at it.”

Basira raises an eyebrow at his wording but doesn’t press it. She leaves after Elias tells her the location of the Seven Lamps of Architecture and gives her some tips on how to avoid collapsing the tunnels.

“If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask,” he says to her back.

Elias had suspected Basira had leanings towards Choke since before the Unknowing. Her emphasis on ‘staying centered’ and her liking of ‘solid’ people were noteworthy. Previously, he would not have brought this to her attention out of caution, but now that they were on their own…

The Seven Lamps was a good start. It would establish whether Basira would be able to harness her inclinations and use them to her advantage.

He huffs a breath in amusement. She’s the closest to himself in behavior, but they lean towards opposing powers. Poetic, really.

“Something funny?” the guard walking beside him asks.

“No. Just always nice to see friends.”

* * *

Basira hadn’t known why the Flesh had attacked the institute.

Elias sighs and traces the cracks in the ceiling again.

There was probably a reason that they hadn’t thought of the tunnels.

His gaze once again drifts to them. Streams of sand betray places where Basira had shifted the walls. The webs are torn there, but if he walks a bit further down the corridor, he knows the webs would resume. He frowns at them.

He has a suspicion as to who had sent the Flesh.

Moreover, Peter had said his efforts during the Unknowing were almost unnecessary due to the large amount of spider webs cocooning the archivist’s team.

And even previously… the lighter. The table. Jonathan Sims.

What does the Web want with him?

Elias growls in frustration. He can’t guess at its plans. It looks as though it is aiding the Eye in its attempt at a ritual. Or, it would look like that if Elias had been born yesterday.

He scowls, still in the tunnels. The Web’s plans are beyond him. He doesn’t especially like this ‘watching’ business.

He paces the rough stone floors. He has grown stronger in prison – has needed to spend more time outside his body. In the institute, he can almost feel the floors beneath his shoes. The feeling extends into the first few hallways of the tunnels, now. If he tries he can see further in, see the wall which trickles sand onto the ground periodically, betraying faint movements within. Sasha.

She had been interested in the tunnels, too, and now she is also trapped in a room. Funny how these things work. Although Elias still isn’t sure why she had taken to exploring so often.

Elias walks back to the archives, solidifying with each step. He stops to inspect Basira’s work. She’s been doing well – he had been right about her affiliation with the Buried. The wall was messily crumpled together, but it would pass under less keen eyes, and it seemed solid enough.

If she keeps to her progress, there is a very good chance that she’ll end up feeding Jon an experience or two.

A spider is already working on a web on the jagged stones. It looks like a normal spider. Under Elias’ eyes, though, it finishes its web, and Elias steps back in surprise. An arrow points back down the way he came. He stares at it.

He follows the arrow.

He is deep into the tunnels, now. The webs have stopped guiding the way some time ago, and Elias is growing tired. Whatever is down here does not want to be seen. Not yet.

Elias stops moving. Not yet?

With the movement of heavens, Elias is blinked at. In its reality, his god is watching him, a pawn beneath the dirt. Elias sees its movement like an ant sees a storm on Jupiter. Not yet.

A pulsing encroaches on Elias’ consciousness, peeling his eyes away from the tunnels with each wave. Before he can understand what he is seeing, the golden light spilling from a door down the corridor blinds him – he snaps back to his cell, sitting bolt upright.

Golden light.

His hands shake.

* * *

The Archivist opens its eyes.

Something slides into place.

The Overseer slides with it. Gravitational pull – diagrams flicker before Elias’ eyes, spacetime curving beneath massive objects, and the Archivist sits up. Elias tilts and, gripping the edge of his cot, wills himself not to spiral into its orbit.

That isn’t to say the Overseer understands spacetime distortion. To know is one thing – to understand, another. And Elias does not understand Jon’s insistence on relying on and reaching for his friends. He does not understand, but he cannot deny that it produces results. In following the Distortion’s door, Jon had been set free. Set free in the same way a fighting dog is freed from its cage with a chain at its throat.

It takes him a day to find his equilibrium again. Even at this distance, the Overseer is dangerously close to free-fall, careening into the black hole that has opened in the London hospital. Accelerations are inversely proportional to mass. And once more, the Overseer wonders just how powerful the two of them are.

Powerful enough to halt its descent. The Overseer lets out its breath as the Archivist inhales. He begins to speak.

Jon has made his choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im elias kin bc, aside from thinking about him every day for the last 2 months, I too didn’t bother with a martin characterization until it was too late.
> 
> it has come to my attention that I have insinuated that elias is sexy. i have made a severe lapse in judgement -  
> btw I highly encourage you to take a minute and perform elias’ speech in 120 out loud. or this version. it’s really fun


	9. Becoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Elias – no, Jon – he – it –  
> In which someone enters a room.

The Archivist immediately returns to the institute, so the Overseer no longer has to work hard to keep his location unknown. Instead, he focuses his efforts on the tunnels.

Information on them is scarce. He has, of course, listened to the statements on Millbank Prison and knows all information contained within the Magnus Institute about the building and its history. None of it mentions any golden light.

He does, however, notice discrepancies within his predecessor’s records. Mistakes which could be put down to a rushed job, and most likely were. But as Elias digs deeper, the shape of something starts to form, on the outskirts of the institute’s operation. A building company with a reputation for the highest discretion. Cuts to salaries, the money not rediverted anywhere. Several complaints were lodged by the employees on the first floor claiming to hear scratching from beneath them.

He begins to suspect that Wright was more active than he assumed. And the sick feeling of old wounds opening threatens to nestle in his head. Had he not learned from his mistakes?

Elias resolves he will not underestimate anyone again. He needs to be watchful.

He hasn’t been able to find that door again, but sometimes, if he wanders close enough, he’ll hear ringing, pulsing, an inaudible chorus. He can only walk circles around it.

Sometimes distant amusement filters down from the heavens as the Eye watches his attempts. Elias knows his way is being blocked, but he still thinks he may get stronger if he keeps throwing himself at this brick wall.

He almost doesn’t notice when Peter starts disappearing from view. His vision is obscured by darkness when he tries to look.

Worry trails through his veins, and he wonders why Peter is spending so much time with Forever Blind.

* * *

“What do you mean I can’t see him?” Jon’s voice says.

Basira replies, longsuffering. “That’s his deal. They keep him in jail to ask him questions, and in return they keep you away.”

The Overseer paces away the days in his cell. He needs to be sure the Archivist has its boundaries under control – else, Elias is worried they’ll bleed into each other. He’s not sure if he can keep them apart without the Archivist’s help.

* * *

MAG 125.

Jon bleeds sluggishly at his desk, and Elias traces the wound onto the paper.

He makes a frustrated noise and crumples it up, tossing it on the floor. It lands among the other balls of paper. He tries again at writing a letter to Basira. This time he manages to put down everything he wants to say without drifting and quickly seals it away.

Jon’s blind devotion to those around him was par for the course, but Elias had expected more of Basira. She should have seen that they need Melanie’s rage now more than ever.

Elias looks up at the door as the lock turns. Amy Liu surveys the paper scattered across his room, eyebrow raising.

“Did you actually write something, or do you have some kind of vendetta against trees?”

Elias holds out the letter for her. “For the Magnus Institute, please,” he says.

She walks into the room, clipping a pair of handcuffs onto his outstretched arms. “Where else,” she sighs, and leads him to the briefing room.

Elias frowns. He was not aware of anything so pressing as to need his attention.

The inspector glances tiredly at him when he takes his seat, then resumes reading the folder in front of her.

There are more people in the room than usual. The detective in front of the whiteboard takes a head count, then begins to speak.

The police have received numerous accounts of cultists attacking and pillaging people and shops. While no murders have been reported thus far, several beatings and mutilations have resulted from trying to confront any one of them directly. The group bears a very close resemblance to the people involved in last year’s Rayner case, and is assumed to be aligned with the Dark at the very least.

Elias hides his alarm well. He hadn’t noticed Forever Blind muster any sort of movement in the past month. Perhaps it was because he’s been preoccupied with the institute, but…

“Anything to add, Mr. Bouchard?”

“No, not at this time. Though, if I may ask – whereabouts are the majority of the incidents?”

The detectives exchange an uneasy glance.

“Why, around the Magnus Institute. You… haven’t noticed?”

* * *

MAG 127.

Basira looks miles better than the last time Elias had seen her.

“Alright,” she says. “What’s so important you needed to tell me to my face?”

“I believe you recently lost Melanie.”

Basira bristles. “We saved Melanie.”

“As a person, yes. But as a defender…” Basira’s lips turn down. She has been having doubts about her actions as well. “I would have thought you would want all the help you could get, or have you forgotten what happened the last time you let your guard down?”

“We’ll work it out,” she replies evenly.

“Possibly. Then again, you are beset by enemies on all sides. And, unless you expect Jon to record them into submission, it would seem you are in rather dire need of another option.”

“And you just happen to have one.”

“I might have an idea, yes.”

She sighs, weighing the options. Her need for information wins out. “Okay. Let’s hear it.”

“Perfect.” He leans back in the small metal chair. “First – how are the tunnels coming along?”

Basira chooses her response carefully. “Fine. I think I’m getting the hang of it.”

“It certainly seems that way. Tell me – how does it feel?”

“Why do you need to know. Or, can’t you just see it?” Basira’s mind curls around her skull defensively.

Elias sighs and clinks his cuffs. “I’m trying to help you, Basira. If you don’t want to continue with the Buried, I can hardly force you.”

“With the Buried?” Basira latches onto the line of information.

Elias smiles.

“Yes. I’ve thought for some time now that you may have some aptitude for Choke, and it seems I was right. Your success with the tunnels is noteworthy.”

Basira’s mind combs through past experiences. Hiding under her desk as the night grew thicker. Digging for worms in the park. Tonner’s arm around her, solid and shielding. The Overseer sees it all.

“Would you like some time to think?” Elias asks.

“No, no. It makes sense,” she says.

“Quite. Now, I happen to know of a few Buried-aligned individuals whom you may wish to speak to. I have confidence that you will be able to enlist at least some of them to help protect the institute. Though they are quite independent, so you’ll have to use your judgement in conversing with them.”

“Why haven’t you enlisted them?”

“I’ve recently entered a contract with the Vast, so I’m hardly their favourite person right now,” Elias says. “But I don’t think you have any issues with throwing me under the bus. Just say that you’re working independently. That might even earn you some good will.”

“You can say that again,” Basira says. “Hold on. The Vast? What contract?”

“Nothing important in the grand scheme of things,” Elias reassures her. “Although – have you heard anything about a,” he smirks at her, “ _spooky_ news channel?”

“Out of my head.” She makes to advance on him, then restrains herself. “Maybe.”

“Well, you may want to try looking for it. I suspect it’ll have a different effect on you. More… useful. For you,” he hurriedly adds.

“Okay.” Basira blows out a breath. “This is a lot.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

She squints at him. “Are you like… training me for something? Like Jon?”

He grins. “Yes. Now show me wax on, wax off.”

“Oh my god. Never mind. Just tell me where I can find these Buried people.”

* * *

MAG 128.

The courier stumbles back to its van, scratching at its head and peeling its skin, muttering nonsense words about ships and other and death. There is so much history in its head that the Overseer aches to crack its weakened skull and slither in – but the institute’s veins are already pushing into it and the Archivist is pulling and pulling and pulling.

The Overseer expands under the new information. The scent of decaying bodies mingles with packaging peanuts and dread – through it all snakes the low roar of the Archivist’s influence. The circus music is deafening in its ears.

His head hits the ceiling and his skin collapses under his surprise, hands drawing away from opposing walls. Elias lands on the floor awkwardly, jostling their - the Archivist’s excitement from his bones. He blinks at the concrete walls before shrugging the unfamiliarity off in chase of euphoria again. He strains to get it back but Jon’s statement is finishing and the other world is as distant, or as close, as ever.

Jon promptly falls off his chair again. Elias is left to mull over the new information, disappointed.

Basira steps over the Archivist’s prone body to take the statement. She reads quickly. When she’s done she scowls at the place Elias is watching her from, then leaves to retrieve her notes on the Buried and the locations of the people Elias told her about.

Elias frowns. He should be pleased that Basira has jumped into action, but the delivery’s timing had just been too good.

He glares at the spiders.

* * *

MAG 131.

The man sneers at her. “Don’t much like you folk.”

Basira maintains her neutral expression. “Yeah? Me neither. But there’s been a change in management.”

The two are sitting at a café in a small town several hours away from London. The man across Basira is old, with close-cropped hair and deep-set eyes that glint out from behind wrinkled, flaking skin like jewels. There is dust in his beard. Every inch a man who has spent his life in the soil.

In the booth behind Basira sits a girl, hardly a teenager, drinking a lemonade. She is with the man, but Elias still hesitates to inform Basira of this potential threat.

He decides not to intervene as Basira says, “I’m having trouble feeding the earth. Would you give me any tips?”

It’s the correct approach. The man’s eyes spark with enthusiasm and the girl smirks into her drink. He is evidently a teacher.

Elias is dragged back to the institute by the sound of a door opening. Helen’s voice bulges out of the wall above his head.

“If I am an it, Archivist, then what does that make you?”

So Jon has tired of waiting. Elias would have tired too, but he probably wouldn’t have went searching for possibly the most grotesque monster out there. Still, if it means Jon will add another entity to his collection, Elias won’t stop him.

The tape recorder whines are it enters the hallways. It whines as Hopworth’s boring life story winds onto it. The Overseer groans when he hears about the letters. That’s undoubtedly the Web’s influence.

The account is done. The Archivist snorts. “That’s it? Hardly worth a rib.”

“Alright, alright,” he says placatingly as Hopworth looms menacingly, and Elias laughs. Jon takes a deep breath. “Will it hurt?”

“Dunno. Doesn’t hurt me.”

Elias hardly has anything better to do, so he keeps his barriers light as Hopworth reaches into Jon. Jon yells and Elias twitches, but what filters through to him isn’t necessarily pain. It is possible the Distortion warps the sensation. Still, Elias records the feeling of his flesh parting under many-fingered hands, searching and reaching. Meat parts to let bone pass, and the rib sings like a bow passing over violin strings as it escapes the skin.

Elias presses a hand to his ribcage, feeling a strange sense of loss. He had merged with another being, previously – this was nearly the complete opposite. The echoes of separation leave him feeling emptier than usual, like he is alone in his body once more, chest not housing two entities.

He breathes out. The Overseer clenches his hand.

Unpleasant, yes. But having unshakeable control over one’s body… Elias thinks he wouldn’t have turned away an offer like that, had it been extended just a few years prior.

Helen spits out the Archivist and Hopworth falls into a river somewhere in Azerbaijan.

* * *

MAG 132.

Elias isn’t sulking. He isn’t. To say so would be to miss all the history, the nuance –

Just. Why bother setting up complex plans when Jon just throws himself at any entity he comes across?

He huffs. Runs his hand through his hair. Tries to calm down. Maybe having Basira explore the Buried isn’t all risk and no reward, he tells himself. If Jon doesn’t emerge from the coffin she may be able to help.

Still. A little patience would be nice. Although he really should be used to Jon’s habits by now.

Jon pulls the chains off the wooden box and throws open the lid. They both stare into the pit, and they know that this won’t be like his dreams.

Elias doubts that his ‘siren call of flesh’ or whatever will withstand the weight of the planet. Jon should know this as well.

As usual, Jon moves forward.

Jon’s breath shakes as he descends the stone steps. The coffin door picks itself up and starts to swing shut, and Elias suddenly has the need to call out, tell him to stop, go back, he lunges towards the Archivist –

The door thuds closed and Jon is lost already. His words scrabble up, muffled, through the cracks in the earth, already across the English Channel. It takes so much effort to see into the breed of darkness only found miles under earth, and Elias’ eyes sting from the sand and grit he is peering through.

Jon’s rib sits, feeble and not enough, beside a single tape on the floor.

Elias sits in his cell and chews on his fingernails.

Hours pass and they remain static. Jon’s cracked voice filters up through the clay in Estonia.

“When I first came down, I could feel it, the - the part of myself I left outside, but…” His voice disappears. Elias presses into the clay and barely makes out the rest of the sentence. “…to stretch my mind, to try and see, in case it’s not there at all. I can’t afford to think about it. Not now.”

The Overseer circles the concrete walls. He’s too far away.

Basira returns to the institute the next day and listens to the tape. She concentrates on the coffin. The floor underneath it warps, just slightly, and the coffin wood groans at her. Almost screams. She jumps, exits the archives. Goes to find a book to read.

It had been wishful thinking to believe that Basira could have learned enough to convince the Buried itself to release Jon. He had rushed it. The Overseer should have known that rushing the earth was impossible.

He presses his ear to earth once again and hears that Jon had found Tonner. He hopes he is proud of himself. Alone together.

But her voice on the tape gives him an idea. An idea which he slides, stealthily, to Martin.

Once, it would have been hard to see Martin through his fog. But Elias has experience with the Lonely, and compared to where the Archivist is now, reaching Martin is like pushing aside tulle.

Martin, despite his training, latches onto his line. He looks up from his laptop and the Overseer feels his fear for Jon the moment he does, the sinking knowledge that Jon is trapped beneath the earth. He still hesitates, looking between the door and his laptop, before setting out for the archives, checking furtively for any sign of Peter.

Across the world, Peter lifts his head from his map, eyes flashing.

Martin enters the archives and lets out a small gasp at the sight of the coffin. He glances down at the ground and sees the rib and the tape, still sat together, small even in the centre of the room.

Martin stands in the middle of the room, wringing his hands. Elias smirks. He is putting on this act for no one; he will, obviously, help Jon.

Martin comes to that conclusion as well. He begins to collect the tape recorders from around the archives, even running to his office to get the ones stored there. He sets them down around the coffin and inserts tapes he finds in Jon’s desk, in Melanie’s desk, in the boxes piled around the archives. Voices begin to run through the air.

Martin’s begun tossing tape after tape on the growing pile when Peter appears in the archives.

“Hi, Martin! What are you doing?” he asks lightly.

Martin stills, dropping the tape in his hand onto the pile. “I… am… helping?”

“Ah,” Peter says. “And who is in there?”

“Jon,” Martin says, and the way he shapes the Archivist’s name in his mouth has Peter furrowing his eyebrows.

Peter stays quiet, examining the pile of murmuring tapes. Martin moves to fetch more before Peter speaks again. “And you think this is helping?”

“Yes,” Martin says immediately. His eyes widen at his confident answer. He softens it with, “Maybe.”

Peter kicks at a stray tape. “You know, I thought we were past this,” he sighs. “At any rate, I think you’ve done enough. You have work to do.”

Martin can’t really argue as he had run out of tape recorders some time ago. He leaves through the door, sulking back to his office. Peter takes one look at the coffin and Elias is troubled at what’s in his eyes – a gleeful hope? Satisfaction? He kicks another tape away as he exits the room.

The Overseer keeps the recorders spinning long after the tapes end. It feeds the information back into the devices and the voices continue, calling to Jon through the night. But Jon is buried under a landslide and he doesn’t hear them. He is unreachable.

On the dawn of the third day, the Overseer is still alone. Martin is still alone. Basira is still reading. And Peter has gone somewhere dark, only leaving a vague sense of irritation at the coffin in the archives.

The Overseer is tired. Tired of Jon always subverting his plans, tired of running the tapes, tired of sitting in the cell and watching, unable to do anything, unable to act. But if Jon’s rib doesn’t call to him, then how can Elias –

The Archivist asks and Tonner replies, “I’m scared.”

Their voices are closer. Whether Elias had been right about the tapes, or the Archivist’s compelling was making the Buried work them out from inside it, the result was the same – Tonner’s voice worms through the dirt encasing them.

He can feel Jon. The Archivist. Dynamic metamorphism, a university lecture helpfully supplies him. He blows out a breath. Jon’s link to his own body had been too weak.

Elias knows of something stronger.

He _is_ something stronger.

The Overseer churns beneath his skin as always, longing to reunite with the Archivist. It is strong from the fear running through the televisions of the city. Strong from staring at the tunnels until it hurts.

Elias doesn’t _let_ it do anything. He simply unfurls.

The Overseer expands from the single point on the bed and does the equivalent of stretching. Its arm phases through the wall as if there is no wall, and to a certain extent that would be correct: the wall is a string of information, here. The Overseer pushes it aside.

It moves through the prison compound, trying hard not to notice its own inexperience with doing so, and the occupants of the building bow beneath the sudden weight of a thousand stares. The Overseer grins at the guard at the end of the hallway and she crumples underneath the knowledge of what happened to her sister, still declared missing. It wallows in her despair.

The Overseer leaves the prison not quite satiated. It will never be satiated. But it needs to help the one buried underground.

It’s at the coffin in three steps and it does what it has always wanted to.

It follows its completion and locates the Archivist.

The Buried is so complete that their not-bodies of ink and ancient secrets cannot merge. The Overseer can’t follow its other half into the earth; its eyes burst under the rocks when it tries to. But the Archivist sees its leaking, consumes the pieces that manage to travel down to it, and starts to move.

Jon’s skin shreds like paper but the Archivist moves steadily closer across continents. The Overseer stands, sentinel, playing the tapes still. The rib sings and the tapes murmur and the Overseer does neither. Doesn’t need to. The Archivist moves underneath it like a heartbeat.

The Overseer stands at the foot of the coffin and waits for the Archivist. Then it steps away. Then, angrily, it returns. It wavers, in conflict with itself, purpose, and god – and it lets out a cry, terrible in want and surrender. It had given enough and should not give more. It steps from the archives, then the institute. When the Archivist pushes open the coffin door and emerges from the earth, the Overseer is far away.

They both collapse in exhaustion. The tapes stop playing. The Overseer once again folds itself into the space it’s meant to be—

“Bastard!” Amy Liu shrieks at him, throwing a hard right hook at his face. Elias’ skull shoots back, and he follows, just barely managing to stay standing. He looks up, dazed, at the guard.

She is crying, and angry, and she’s trying not to think of the grief that threatens to overwhelm her at any moment.

“You motherfucker!” She lands three good kicks in his ribs before uncontrollable shaking overtakes her. She lets out a scream of anger and grief, then is escorted out by an alarmed security guard. The door clangs shut behind her.

Elias falls onto the bed, disregarding his broken rib.

He is so tired. His eyes drift shut.

His eyes open.

Waves push sand onto the shore. The blue tide is interrupted by a woolen coat.

Cold water swirls around Peter’s kneeling form. He shudders in the shallows, clutching and releasing the sand in front of him, working the reflective surface into a cloudy brown. The waves rise and fall against his back. Behind him, in the deeper water, floats a sailboat.

Elias watches from his spot on the beach. He is silent. Still, Peter looks up at him, and his eyes are missing. So pale that the pupils aren’t visible. The absence of surprise in his expression makes Elias think he is not a new addition to the dream. Though, if Peter knows that it is truly Elias who is standing on the beach, he does not show it.

Peter shudders, worries the water. His hands had disappeared beneath the silt. Elias watches and does not speak. His body rebuilds itself on the prison bed.

Peter whimpers once or twice. Had Elias been present, that might have stirred something in him, but he is distant, and it doesn’t.

The fog rolls slowly, unhurriedly, towards the island. Elias is silent.

He watches until he simply fades away.

* * *

Elias stares at another new spot of darkness on his hand and listens to Jon’s flesh parting.

Jon pushes the knife deeper into his arm, grunting with exertion and pain. The blood pools into the already soaked paper towel he had laid on his desk. He stops, panting, then quickly yanks the knife out and pushes the skin open further, searching.

He’s only met with more red mass.

The Overseer wonders if it would be comforting to see something staring back.

Jon lifts his head suddenly, as if listening, and Elias recoils. He grabs at the roll of paper towel to his left and tries to wipe away the blood as he crosses his office. The wounds should already be closing.

Throwing the bloody paper into the garbage, he wrenches open his office door. Martin, who had been just on the other side looking for a statement, jumps at the sudden entrance. He makes a dismayed face as Jon walks over.

“Hi, Jon.”

“Martin.”

Jon stations himself at Martin’s side, making it clear he won’t be going anywhere without a conversation. Martin sighs and turns back to the shelf, but his mind is already reaching sideways for the archivist. Old habits.

“I heard you got Daisy out,” he volunteers as he searches through the statements.

“Oh, yeah, I – I wasn’t sure if I would be able to. Get back out, I mean.”

“Hm. Kind of sounds like you’re the one doing something stupid.”

Jon opens his mouth to protest, then closes it in resignation. “I mean, it worked.” The floor opens up beneath him and Jon’s foot sinks into a vein. He doesn’t seem to notice it. “Thank you for the tapes.”

Both men still. Jon recovers first. “You put the tapes there?”

His compelling is rusty, but it sneaks out of his mouth and around Martin’s wrist. “Yes,” the other man answers immediately, then breaks the strand by clapping his hand to his mouth.

“Don’t,” Martin says. Jon starts to apologize, but Martin grows angrier. “Don’t do that. I’m not even supposed to be talking to you, let alone telling you anything—”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” Jon apologises. “But I can help with whatever he has you doing—”

“No, Jon.” Martin says firmly. “You can’t. And please don’t try. You’ll only make it worse.”

“Make what—” Jon restrains himself. Runs his hand through his hair. “Fine. Just… you can talk to me. If you want. You know that, right?”

Martin, instead of listening, is staring in horror at his hand. “Jon! Oh my god - is that blood? Are you bleeding?”

Jon looks in surprise at his arm. It is, indeed, covered in dried blood – he had not done a good job of wiping it off.

“Uhhh…” Jon says. “It’s ketchup.”

Martin stares at him, mouth open. “A – ketchup.” He takes a deep breath. “Okay. Just—" Martin hesitates, then reaches out to touch Jon lightly on the shoulder. “Be careful.”

Jon can only nod as Martin recedes.

Peter is in and out of his office before Elias can see anything. He immediately returns to the dark spot in Elias’ vision, but Elias catches a quick impression of anger in motion, irritation. He feels a sickly pull as dark oil leaks into the vein containing the institute’s floorplans. His stomach drops, just slightly.

Peter may think it is petty revenge, but Forever Blind will know how valuable this information is.

* * *

Tony Caruso shoves Elias into his cell and slams the door violently behind him. He had left the handcuffs on, something they had taken to doing on bad days after Amy Liu had resigned from her position.

Elias sighs. They had asked him about the Dark’s movements today, and Elias hadn’t been able to give them any usable information. The Dark is drawing inwards, collecting in a single point, and Elias can only see its feelers, sent out as spies or collectors.

He drags his hand over his face. He doesn’t quite know how to feel about Peter’s betrayal. It should have been something he planned for.

Well. He had. He just hadn’t thought Peter would betray him over something as insignificant as the Archivist reaching for Martin. And while Elias’ retaliation seems in bad taste – too personal, too cruel for what the captain had done – Elias sees fire behind a locked door and threads binding a god, and his resolve hardens. Peter will not interfere with the Eye again. And besides, the man had always known how to get under Elias’ skin, and Elias can’t quite make himself consider any other option. It’s too fitting, and Elias is a romantic at heart.

That being said, he doesn’t quite know how to feel about what he needs to do. If that had mattered, he might have put more thought into it. But it doesn’t, so he doesn’t.

He just needs to act.

His thoughts are interrupted by two dogs, baring their teeth.

“I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced,” Peter says from across the archives. He’s standing casual, hands in his pockets. Elias knows he’s at his most emotional when he’s being nonchalant.

“I think it’s a bit too late for that,” Jon scoffs. His own hands are motionless at his sides.

Peter looks uncertain until Jon snaps, “Yes, I know who you are.”

“Oh! So you do know some things, then. Great. I was getting kind of worried.”

“I don’t actually know what you do around here, though,” Jon says. “Certainly not keep us safe. Were you even aware that the Stranger was here? And had brought the Buried into the institute?”

“That isn’t any of my concern. And not my fault. Ever thought that, maybe if you stopped inviting every avatar in the vicinity to your therapy sessions, the archives would be a safer place?”

Elias raises an eyebrow. The captain was pulling no punches.

Peter continues at Jon’s silence. “And I can hardly stop you from throwing yourself at everything that doesn’t want you. Which reminds me. I’d like it if you stayed away from my assistant.”

“Martin? I barely see him!”

Peter takes a ring of keys out from his jacket pocket and spins them idly on his finger. “I’d like to keep it that way. He always gets so worked up about you.”

“Why do you even care?”

Peter frowns at the man but the compulsion is absent. “He’s doing important work. You’re a distraction to him.”

The push and pull of the conversation mimics the pulse of the Lonely trailing along the ground towards Jon. Elias frowns at Peter.

“I… What? What wo—” Jon’s eyes sharpen the distance between them. His voice lowers. “What are you having Martin d—”

Peter shines the small flashlight attached to his keychain directly into Jon’s eyes. Jon flinches back, cursing.

“None of that. Elias might not want me eating his employees, but I can still hurt you a fair bit. Consider this a warning.”

Jon rubs the spots out of his vision. “What does Elias want then? Why are you here?”

“Ask him.” Peter grins to his left where Elias is stationed. Elias scowls and relocates. Peter’s smile widens slightly, then transforms into fake surprise. He turns back to Jon. “Oh, I’m sorry, you can’t, can you? Another person who left. Add that to the list.”

“Left? You took Martin!”

Peter laughs, and the fog grows thicker. “Not true at all. I think he got tired of waiting for you. Lost his faith, as it were. He came to me. You should know this, no?” He examines Jon’s growing dread with relish. “His mother’s passing hit him hard, and it’s not like he had anyone else to turn to. I think he got fed up with you. I don’t blame him, really. He practically begged me to stop the hurt.” Peter shifts uncomfortably under Elias’ glare. “Like I said. Important work.”

“I don’t believe that,” Jon says, voice wavering, and Elias turns his frown on him for a second. The Archivist knows it is the truth. He is letting his emotions get the best of him.

The Lonely pools around his feet.

“From what he tells me, I would think it’s pretty easy to believe. You seem… kind of awful. No wonder the only person not obligated to speak to you left as well. Georgie, right? Haven’t heard from her since, hm?”

Jon’s shoes fade, just slightly, but it’s enough for Elias to bear down on Peter. All his eyes open and focus, and Peter jumps and curses.

“Stop that,” he grits out.

The Archivist sheds Jon’s despondency with difficulty like shedding a carapace to reveal glistening new skin. It examines the captain in interest, sensing the familiar discomfort of being watched. Stepping out of the clinging fog towards the captain, it asks, “Stop what?”

Elias isn’t in the room so Peter can’t do anything about him, but he aims the light at Jon’s eyes and Jon falls for it a second time. He flinches back. “You too.” Peter doesn’t catch the compulsion. “Elias is trying his hardest to stop me from talking to you.”

“Why?” Jon takes another step forward.

“Don’t know,” Peter says. Elias doesn’t like the the smile that creeps onto his face. “He seems to value you a bit. Maybe he’s worried I’ll tell you how he sounds in—”

Elias excises Peter’s memories with a twist of his hand. Peter’s mouth hangs open for a second, no words forthcoming before – “Oh you son of a bitch.”

“What doesn’t he want me to know?” Jon presses. His compulsion is strong, wrapping around Peter’s neck like rope, but Elias keeps his hold on Peter’s mind, blocking the answers. Peter is pinned between them.

And then he’s gone.

Jon stares in surprise at the space Peter had just occupied. Peter appears in Elias’ cell.

“I do not appreciate,” he growls, advancing on Elias, “being a dick-measuring contest.”

Elias holds his ground, not raising his cuffed hands. “I think you’re the only one with anything to prove around here. I specifically asked you not to talk to him.”

“How about I run my business, and you mind yours,” Peter says angrily.

Anger colours Elias’ words in return. “And what business would that be? Selling me out to Forever Blind?”

“It might be, yes!”

“And why’s that?”

“Maybe I don’t like your archivist.”

Ah, Elias thinks. “Ah,” Elias says. “And you think handing me over to Forever Blind will solve that issue?”

“Oh, what’s it matter! You’re locked up here all cozy, meanwhile I actually have to deal with these people—”

“It’s only for a little while longer—”

“And it might be easier if I knew what your plan was, for once! It’s all fun and games for you, sitting and scheming here on the taxpayer’s – my – dime, but if I knew what you were planning, what you wanted—”

Peter takes a deep breath, steadying himself. Elias looks away, giving him some time, and examines the ball of emotions at his centre. Peter’s stress of having to communicate with others, being thrust into a strange situation with no plan or support or goal, having to tolerate employees actively scheming against him all curdled up into the tight wad of frustration in his chest. And undercutting it all, loneliness and uncertain, baseless hope.

Elias speaks to the wall.

“Well, I don’t know what your plan is, or what _you_ want, Peter, so it seems we are at an impasse.”

It’s a lie. Peter knows, he just doesn’t want to think about it. But the thoughts are there. Elias sees himself on a boat wearing, ridiculously, a flowy costume he can only describe as pirate-like, Peter’s arms encircling his waist. He’s complaining about something but the fondness in his eyes is as clear as the sky above them. Peter is laughing.

He sees another Elias entering a cozy room bearing two mugs and curling up next to Peter on a plush couch. The room is absent of paintings and eyes, and the window faces not moors but a tree-lined boulevard. The midday sun glints off Elias’ rings as he stirs his tea.

The pale man across from him in the cell nods. “Good.”

And Elias is himself enough, likes Peter enough to not feed him back the knowledge even though the Overseer strains against him.

And Elias is himself enough to act on it.

He looks back up at the man.

“In the meantime…”

Elias tries not to think about how Peter stoops ever so slightly to allow the cold metal chain connecting his handcuffs to settle on his neck. He brings in his arms, the captain with them. Elias stops just before they meet, observing Peter’s parted lips, fluttering eyelids, a tinge of pink on his cheeks.

He finds no regret in his heart. Peter doesn’t let him look long and closes the distance.

There’s a sort of desperation in the way Peter dives after him, catches his tongue in his mouth, pulls away just enough to make Elias chase him. And under Peter’s cautious gaze Elias lets his eyes flutter closed just long enough for Peter to close his own, to turn into something sweet in his mouth. He eases under his hands.

And then Elias is walking backwards, taking the captain with him, before turning and pushing the man onto the bed. _Into the holding pen._ Elias settles on his lap _._ Peter just looks at him, and Elias starts to think that maybe the man does know what he wants. Cold hands at the small of his back tear him away from his thoughts. He gasps, quietly, and shifts forward away from the chill, but Peter just laughs softly and runs them up along his back.

“Part of the package,” he says, almost apologetically, and traces Elias’ spine.

Elias brings his cuffed hands to Peter’s shoulders and shrugs his coat off him. “How is your map-making?” _Lock the head into place._

“Fine,” Peter says, but the slight hope buried in his voice lifts the end of the word, turns it into a question.

Elias ignores it. “What area are you charting out?” _Gun against temple._

“Canada’s west coast, up to Alaska. There’s a wonderful series of islands that I’ve wanted to sail for a while now. Lots of untouched wilderness up there to get lost in.”

Peter’s eyes drift and Elias can see the pine trees hugging rocky beaches, mountaintops lost in fog. He hums, working Peter’s arm through his sleeve.

Peter’s voice is sour when he next speaks. “Although I suppose map-making is somewhat redundant now, what with all the new gadgets.”

Elias lets his coat slide to the floor. “Back in my day,” he says, smiling. Peter doesn’t return it, eyes still distant.

“And it’s not like it’s needed,” Peter says. “You lot, you can just look and see the coastline, or in your archivist’s case, ask the nearest person what it—"

_Pull the trigger._

Elias had leaned in and gently, gently, pressed a kiss to Peter’s jaw, stopping his growing scowl. His hands still. Elias smiles, and presses another kiss. Peter practically melts beneath him. He turns just a little bit colder.

Elias doesn’t tell him that’s not how it works, that he needs someone to actually get the information, that he needs him to make the map first. No need to make this worse. Instead, Elias leans into him until Peter lays down on the cot, Elias on top of him. They stay there, tangled, and neither speaks. Peter holds Elias’ waist, and his other hand cards through Elias’ hair like he’s trying to shake loose his thoughts.

Peter’s breaths even out and Elias drifts too, silent, tired of the lies encircling them like nooses. Tired of keeping the man in the slaughterhouse with the door open. He stifles his presence in the laundry circuit and thinks about sacrifices.

Sometime during the night, the fog grows so thick as to spill onto the bed. Peter shivers, still asleep, and Elias’ own flesh chills almost unbearably. Peter’s form grows transparent with the pull of the Lonely, and the Overseer lazily thinks of the Archivist. A stone, he sinks through Peter’s receding flesh and is not taken with the tide. When he next looks Peter is gone, and the mist is too.

_Watch the animal bleed out._

The next morning, Elias asks for a haircut. He can see each hair as it lands on the floor.

* * *

The fog hangs over the floor of Elias’ cell like mist over a dewy field. He is cold, his freshly buzzed head unaccustomed to the chill, but he is unafraid. He doesn’t retract his feet, hanging off the bed as they are.

“You’ll have to look elsewhere,” he tells it, and kicks idly, churning vapour, until it simply dissipates.

* * *

The pile of slugs slowly grows. Shifting, slick bodies undulate and ooze over one another, moving to the same slow rhythm that raises fevers and collapses rotting logs. The Overseer can hear its wet sliding from the prison. The wad seems to be heading towards a suburban community on the outskirts of London.

The Overseer watches it, biting on his cheek. There’s nothing he can do about it, unimportant as it is.

In the institute, Basira throws away her sandwich wrapper, then pauses, hand still outstretched. She’s examining the flickering breakroom TV like there’s anything besides static on it. Her eyes widen in alarm and disgust.

She sets off for her car, a fire extinguisher in each hand.

Elias sends his gratitude to the Eye and waits for Basira to realize salt will work better.

* * *

The darkness of the night collects in Elias’ cell. It writhes. It doesn’t take shape as much as presence, until its growling pervades the small room.

The Overseer stands on the opposite side of the room, tensed. Its curiosity let the thing into the cell, did not banish it under its eyes when it was weak and gathering. It only watched benignly. And now the beast is here, and strong. And now the Overseer sharpens its eyes on it.

The wall of eyes that hangs in front of the beast is formidable, but it obstinately remains cloaked in darkness and stabs with its gnashing teeth and black-as-night claws. They don’t catch the light because there is no light, but the Overseer sees them.

It snaps and growls at him, but he knows that it is only here to taunt. To make sure the Overseer knows that he is not in power here, that he will be defenseless against the claws that will slash as soon as Forever Blind decides to attack. That Elias is not in the institute, and they will be defenseless against the men that will come from underneath.

Elias dangles the taken thread of information between his teeth in victory. The beast yelps, growls again. It retreats, leaving several eyes clouded and damaged. The Overseer remains standing, thinking.

Forever Blind will use the floorplans Peter gave them to navigate the tunnels. They will attack soon.

* * *

“May I?”

The inspector nods and the Overseer places the image of the third cultist into the sketch artist’s mind. He can’t help but sneak in the knowledge that his favourite watch had disappeared the day his girlfriend flew back to Lviv. Just as his wallet did last year.

He sits back to suck the bones dry of the sinking whale carcass in the man’s stomach. It isn’t fear, but it would do.

“Are you alright?” asks the inspector, but the sketch artist just nods and gets back to work.

She turns to the Overseer. “You’re getting antsy.”

“Yes. I’ve been meaning to mention that I’ll be taking my leave soon.”

“Unfortunately for you, Mr. Bouchard, that isn’t for you to decide.”

“Unless you want to be charged for gross incompetence, maybe even an accomplice to murder, you may want to reconsider. It seems that you are no longer able to guarantee my safety.” The Overseer slides her the image of the beast in darkness.

She grimaces, and he understands that he is not the only one it had visited that night. He is, however, the only one who emerged unharmed.

“I see. Case in point. You are very aware that the Magnus Institute is my top priority. I will remain here for a while longer, but rest assured that, when your police fail to capture the cultists you’re looking for, I will be leaving.”

The inspector massages her temples. She isn’t surprised at his warning. They both knew he would be leaving on his own terms.

“I guess you aren’t very helpful with this investigation anyway. Fine. Just don’t pull the same trick you did last time.”

Elias raises an eyebrow at her. “Or you’ll do what, exactly? Please, inspector – don’t make your threats, and I won’t make mine.”

* * *

The Archivist quickly steps into the office and closes the door behind him. The Overseer watches, curious.

The lock hadn’t been changed after Daisy had broken in to sign an employment contract. And after Jon had reclaimed his tapes from the corner, the Overseer knew it was only a matter of time before he returned.

He opens and closes drawers, muttering to himself in frustration upon seeing rows and rows of legal documents. He opens one drawer to find a mass of pulp, and squints at it before laughing. Elias frowns at the recollection of Basira flooding his cabinet.

Meanwhile, Jon is examining the carved wooden box sat in the bottom drawer. The lid opens to reveal white bone, meticulously preserved. Jon’s lips twist in disgust and worry, and he closes the drawer hurriedly.

He stands at Elias’ desk, thinking. Absentmindedly, he flicks at the pens that are still arranged on the desk and they roll onto the floor.

“Anything to add?” Jon says to the empty room.

Something catches Jon’s eye. He crosses the room to the cabinet furthest from the door. Digging around in it, he pulls out a key, still dirty from the tunnels’ grime. He rubs at it and reveals a shiny golden lustre.

“Huh,” Jon says, and stuffs it into his pocket. Walking to the door, he has to stoop to take Elias’ favourite pen with him.

* * *

The Blind slither into the tunnels. An opening strike or a part of a larger attack, the Overseer cannot see, but their minds nurse murderous intent and their hands clutch knives.

The mob divides. Groups of four split off into diverging tunnels, each following the map they had been so kindly provided with.

Each, in turn, meets dead end after dead end. They look at their maps, muttering to themselves. Elias relaxes slightly. Basira had done a good job of shifting the tunnels. He may trust her more in the future.

But his eye won’t leave one group. They keep moving forward, taking wrong turns. They creep closer to the archives.

Jon is organizing the statements, only metres away from the trapdoor.

Elias bounces his leg. They should come up against a dead end soon. He races ahead of them and turns corridors, finds blocked off passages, one more turn, two more turns – he can see the trapdoor. Shit. Basira had neglected to block a path.

He looks for her, but she’s in the countryside. Daisy, wilted, is of no help. Melanie won’t get up from her bed even if the institute collapses around her.

If ever there was reason to act, this is it.

The Overseer bears down on the institute like a worm through soil, like boulders down a cliff, like a ray of light through darkness. Which is to say, the Overseer moves towards the institute instinctively and its hands are gone. It doesn’t stop to consider this. It doesn’t matter. The city blurs beneath it.

It advances on the institute, a white-hot wheel of fury, cyclical in its determination to dispel the darkness encroaching upon its home. Those Who Sing the Night will not touch its library again.

It phases through the institute’s wall and hurtles through the hallways to the archives. The Dark is beneath the archives. If they want to live in darkness so bad, he will make sure they do so –

He pours information into one the nearest one’s head until its eyes burst under the deluge and it falls, gibbering, to the ground.

Elias settles into his skin – he needs arms to do what comes next –

The Archivist looks down in alarm as the floor warps beside it. Simultaneously, the door to the archives flies open and the Overseer strides in, uttering a passage from Basira’s memory. His words retract the floor to reveal dark tunnels and Elias jumps through, landing in front of the thing on the ground, screaming as its eyes bleed out.

Elias calls up Melanie’s rage. It’s stale, but it’s enough for him to pick up the dropped knife and drive it into the nearest one’s neck. Blood spurts onto the rough tunnel walls and the other two flee. The newly blind one still twitches on the ground and the Overseer is disappointed that his deluge of information has driven all plans out of its mind. That does make disposal easier, though. Three stomps on its neck is enough to crush its windpipe.

Elias stands over the Dark, breathing heavily. A sound from behind makes him whirl around.

Jon stands in the tunnel behind him, mouth open in shock. His glance jumps from Elias to the bodies to Elias again. Elias throws the knife aside.

“You - you’re wearing sweatpants,” Jon manages.

“An astute observation.” Elias wipes his hands on the aforementioned pants.

“Aaahhh…” Jon’s gaze once again jumps to the bodies. “Is – is that the Church of the Divine Host?” His words become stronger. “Why is the Dark attacking us?”

“Don’t you start,” Elias snarls and brushes past Jon. Their skin sticks together. It’s too early.

He finds Peter leaning over Martin in his office.

“Elias, dear!” Peter exclaims, looking up from the spreadsheet Martin had been explaining to him. “How lovely to see you out of prison!” He squints at Elias. “Is that blood?”

Martin looks absolutely scandalized at Peter’s use of ‘dear’. Elias scowls at them both.

“Keys, please,” he says, holding his hand out.

“You swagger into my institute, demand my keys… the next thing you’ll be asking for is my position!”

“I hardly swagger, Peter. And yes, I’ll be resuming my position immediately.”

Peter grins and leans over Martin. “Not an hour free and already making hefty demands. I think I’ll miss those handcuffs.”

Martin, for his part, is trying his hardest to melt into his chair.

“No handcuffs means I can make good on my promise of breaking your neck,” Elias retorts, willing himself not to blush.

“Scary, scary,” Peter says absentmindedly, rummaging through his pockets. Pulling out the keyring, he tosses it to Elias with a wink. “Might have to rectify that.”

Elias does his best to ignore him. He turns to a thoroughly traumatized Martin who is transparent in his chair.

“I will handle the paperwork from here on out. Thank you, Martin.”

Martin blinks at him. Then he looks at Peter.

Elias raises his eyebrows and follows Martin’s gaze. Peter looks as surprised as Elias feels.

“I do still have work for you,” Peter says. Martin nods, slightly.

“Really?” says Elias. “Well. I won’t say I approve, but I will cut your hours to part-time if you wish to take a job with Peter Lukas.”

Martin takes a deep breath. “Sure.”

Peter grins in victory. “It might be time for you to eat your words, Elias. Some people actually want to be around me.”

“No accounting for bad taste, I suppose,” he says, coldly. “I’ll get started on the paperwork.” Elias walks off.

He stops in the doorway.

“You’ve changed it.”

“It was his idea,” Martin says quickly. Peter winces.

Elias sighs and turns back around. “Fine. I suppose you do still need something to do around here. But please give me my schedules back.”

Peter steps away from the desk. “Well, sorry Martin, but I’ll leave you to it. I’m not being paid to deal with him anymore.” He flashes a grin and fades into the Lonely.

Martin mumbles something that sounds like “Lucky,” under his breath, then begins to dig through the papers on his desk.

* * *

The Archivist’s eyes hang heavy on Elias’ head. He has been trying to ignore them for the past hour, instead focusing on the papers before him. He doesn’t want to admit Martin has made scheduling easier, but… maybe Elias will look at giving him a raise. At least for putting up with Peter.

Another eye joins the hundreds staring at Elias. He whips his head up.

“What?” he snaps at the air. He isn’t sure Jon can hear him, but half the eyes start and blink away, almost abashedly.

Half an hour later they’re back.

Elias groans and pushes back his chair, giving up on the paperwork. He’s out of practice. Instead, he tries to see into the Dark.

Jon’s eyes distract him.

* * *

“He cancelled _what_?” Elias says angrily. Rosie just waits for him to either throw a fit or to move on. Elias pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath. That old bitch had cancelled their contract with Elias’ favourite office supplies company. He can physically feel his heart become smaller in his chest.

Rosie’s glance shifts behind him, and Elias suddenly feels a gravitational pull. He starts to walk forward, taking Rosie with him, but he’s stopped by Jon’s voice.

“Can I talk to you?”

Elias stops, trying not to wince, like a teenager caught sneaking out of their bedroom window. Rosie makes her excuses and leaves the two alone. Elias has no choice but to turn around, but that doesn’t mean he does so with any grace. He makes sure to telegraph that he’s doing so reluctantly.

The Archivist stands before him like a mirage, the air between them shimmering with power like the midday desert. Again without heat. Elias stays silent, arms crossed as if to offer some sort of obstacle to the magnetic pull of their connection.

The Archivist shifts uncomfortably and a nervous pulse travels across the gap. His hands twitch restlessly.

“So. You’re back?”

Elias just levels him an unimpressed look. So far, he’s two-for-two for astute observations.

Jon scowls at him, evidently receiving the message. “So Peter Lukas is gone, right? He’ll leave Martin alone?”

“Martin has taken a part-time job with him. He’s cut his hours here,” Elias answers steadily.

Jon looks away, muttering a curse.

“Well, it was nice catching up with you,” Elias says, hopefully, at Jon’s silence. The Archivist looks back at him.

“Why is the Dark attacking us?” he asks. His compelling warps across the air to Elias, and they’re already bleeding into one another so excessively it takes him several seconds to remember that he shouldn’t just say everything that comes to mind.

“I suspect they just don’t like us very much,” Elias says, and the ropes-as-fingers recede. The Archivist has become less… personal, at least.

The Archivist switches tracks and advances, and the Overseer can see it has entered its interrogation mode, finally faced with a prey worth pulling answers from.

“What happened to me, when I woke up?”

“My answering that question won’t help you,” Elias says, trying not to betray the effort it takes not to relate his death.

“Answer it anyway,” spits the Archivist. “Or I’ll make it a lot less pleasant for everyone watching.”

Elias raises his eyebrow, unimpressed, so the Archivist asks again. “What is happening to me?”

And Elias has to close his throat to choke the unexpected gasp that threatens to escape him. Long fingers lift the answer up from his chest and into his mouth, running over his skin, tracing up his neck, nestling on his tongue. They cup his jaw and bring the words to his lips—

The Archivist is smirking at him. And the student behind him is examining Elias as well.

“No you don’t,” the Overseer snarls and unfolds its arms from its back. Dark limbs bend into the room’s occupants’ minds, hollowing the space where the Archivist and the Overseer stand. They start, as one, then go back to their work. The student’s gaze slides off him and she moves on.

Elias rolls his neck, stretching, then smiles. “There. Now you can continue.”

Jon stares above Elias, horrified at the dozen arms spreading beneath the ceiling, choking down their presence amongst the institute staff. Elias smirks at the man.

“No? Purely for show?” It’s his turn to step forward. “A shame. Although I am glad to see you’ve been practicing.”

“What did you just do?” whispers Jon, following the limbs around the room.

Elias steps sideways to avoid an employee, oblivious to their presence. “No one knows anything unless I want them to,” he says flippantly.

“Except for me,” Jon says, unexpectedly confident, and catches Elias’ wrist. A doubling of his vision, a surge of information – then the Overseer is disconnecting, blocking off his own mind from the searching, probing arms that snake into his brain. It’s too early. He yanks his arm away, but Jon’s grip is stronger than he thought, and all he succeeds in doing is to make the man take half a step towards him. Still, he is successful in his tourniquet.

And the two men are standing in the room.

Jon looks tired, but not more so than he usually looks. In fact, Elias would even say he has rounded out a bit, his skin healthier than when Elias had seen him last, huddled over a research report a floor down.

Elias frowns. Seen him last? He’s been seeing him everyday, what did he mean –

Jon’s gaze flickers down to follow the frown. His silver scars shine under the light as his features shift.

He must feel it too, or the lack of it – Elias doesn’t know what he’s feeling, can’t see his mind or anyone’s – he must also feel the lack of noise, of experiences that underpin his own, as Jon looks a little bit lost. A little bit like Elias feels. It is very quiet in the noisy room. Or just in Elias’ head.

The two men look at each other in the absence of connection. They might even see each other in the absence of connection. And Elias knows Jon won’t say anything, might not ever break the moment.

Elias brings his arm up between them, prying loose Jon’s grip with his free hand. Jon starts and releases him before Elias can uncurl his other fingers, and the Overseer releases his mind and once again Jon’s undercurrents are within reach but for once Elias doesn’t examine them. He doesn’t examine the disappointment in Jon’s eyes. And Jon’s face is once again blurred by history and power and as Elias steps away, something slides back into place in his chest.

Jon glances at the space where his limbs had hung. “Did you… make us invisible?” he guesses.

Elias chuckles. “Hardly. It is easy to cinch off the flow of information when it flows drop by drop, as it does with my employees. I simply introduced a blind spot.”

“Will I be able to do that?”

“I doubt it. At least, not in this state.” Elias doesn’t elaborate, and Jon, unsettled, doesn’t ask.

* * *

“I suppose you don’t have any use for me, now,” Peter says lightly, leaning on the side of Elias’ desk.

“Hm,” says Elias, focused on the cloaked figure entering a church across the city.

Peter snaps his fingers in front of his face. “Hey.”

Elias reluctantly drags himself back to the room to look at the captain. “Yes?”

Peter tries to blink away the worry coating his eyes. “I was wondering when I’d be compensated?”

“Just take it out of your next donation,” Elias says, eyes already sliding off the man.

Peter stays at his desk. “You’re not still mad about the Dark thing, are you?”

Twinges of anger cause Elias to reply. “I wouldn’t be if it was anything but Forever Blind. But you always,” he finally tears his eyes away from the motionless building, “know how to say the wrong thing. The one entity I cannot—”

“Okay, okay,” Peter says, putting his hands up. “I get it. Still, I’m not sure why you’re so worked up about it, I’m sure you have a plan.”

Elias bites his cheek to stay silent.

“Elias?”

“I didn’t account for you.” Just cheesy enough for Peter to love, then overthink later. Elias spots Basira making her way up the stairs. “But you’ll have to leave. Basira is coming up.”

Elias watches as Peter remains solid at his desk. He watches as the larger man pales.

“I… can’t.”

“You what.”

“It’s not… letting me,” Peter says, eyes wild with barely restrained panic. “Elias, it’s not—”

“Peter. Peter!” Elias stands and grabs his shoulders. “Calm down. You’ll just have to leave the regular way.”

Peter blanches at his words.

“But I don’t want to see Basira. I’ve avoided her so far,” Peter hisses back. “She’s scary.”

“Well you either leave or you hide,” Elias says. “She’s nearly here.”

Peter casts a panicked gaze around the room, and finding nowhere to hide behind, simply drops to the floor beside Elias.

“Are you serious?” Elias whispers. “No, you—"

“Are you busy?” Basira asks from the doorway.

Elias doesn’t miss a beat. “Always have time for you, Basira,” he says, looking up.

Peter sits with his back to the drawers, staring off into space. He’s gone very pale.

“What can I do for you?” Elias asks smoothly, resuming his seat at his desk. Basira remains standing and Elias can only hope the angle isn’t great enough to see Peter’s boots.

“Someone is selling out institute secrets.”

“Oh?” Elias says.

“And I think it’s Peter Lukas.”

“What made you arrive at that conclusion?” Elias asks, carefully not looking down at the man sitting next to him.

“Well, I went down to the tunnels to check for any stragglers and make your adjustments, and I found this.” She places a rolled paper on Elias’ desk. He looks through it and sees that it’s a copy of the very same institute floorplan Peter had given them.

He frowns and looks closer. No, not quite. The tunnels have been modified to reflect Basira’s restructuring. She hadn’t noticed the changes in the maze, but as Elias has access to both copies, the discrepancies are sizeable.

His frown deepens. No one should have known about the changes. The only things down there… are spiders. Of course.

“You found this near the entrance to the tunnels?” he asks.

“Yeah. I figured they dropped it after you, what was it, scared them off?” Basira says, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Yes. So I assume you think Peter gave them this map as he and Martin are the only ones with access to the paperwork?”

“Almost. There’s a couple more things.” Basira leans in. “Martin says he kept insinuating that he’d be hanging around the institute for a long time yet. We think he’s trying to replace you. Though I can’t imagine why he’d want to,” she says, lip twisting in disgust.

Elias huffs a laugh. Peter wishes. “No, I don’t think he was trying to replace me. I highly doubt anyone else wants to talk to him – he’s probably just lonely.”

A finger strokes his ankle lightly. Elias kicks at it, but the hand runs under his pant leg and moves up. Peter looks up at him, eyes wicked and still wild. It seems he had gotten bored of sitting still.

“Maybe,” Basira says, doubtfully. “My contacts also tell me that the Dark is so upset because they think you had Rayner killed.” She looks closely at him. “Is that true?”

“I certainly didn’t tell them that,” Elias says. “But I may have provided some evidence to aid the police, yes.”

“Hm. So, who told them?” At Elias’ silence she leans back. “And,” she finishes, “Peter can’t stand Jon. There’s your motivation.”

“I mean, I think we all sympathise,” Elias says, trying not to react to Peter’s, for lack of a better word, caresses. Basira remains immobile.

Elias sighs. “As I’ve mentioned before, I can’t retract the institute’s plans from their minds. I share your suspicions about the leak, but there isn’t anything more to be done about it now, especially since no one will be accessing documents but me from now on. And Martin,” Elias adds, “but I don’t think he’s far gone enough to betray me.” He once again tries to shake Peter off, but Peter deftly avoids the kicks and shifts closer.

Basira doesn’t look convinced, but Elias can no longer hold this conversation without giving themselves away. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Basira. I’ll be keeping an eye out for anything else he tries to pull. But, I have a meeting I need to get to.” Basira doesn’t move. “Right now,” Elias says.

She walks out the office in a huff, leaving the door open. The room rotates as Peter swivels his chair around to face him.

“Did you tell Forever Blind that I had Rayner killed?” Elias asks.

“I did not,” Peter replies, fitting himself between Elias’ legs. His mind still houses remnants of panic.

Elias watches him, playing his usual aloof act. “Then who did?”

Peter’s hands don’t falter at Elias’ belt. “Don’t ask me. I don’t especially care.” The belt curls on the floor at Elias’ feet.

“She left the door open, Peter,” Elias warns, glancing helplessly at it. “We can’t - and in any case, this is not something I…”

Peter has Elias’ pants open and is tugging insistently at them. He manages to pull them down without the seated man’s cooperation.

He grins up at the head of the institute in triumph. “You’ll just have to be quiet, then.”

“At least let me close the door.”

“Not a chance.” Peter’s already working on his underwear.

“This isn’t a good idea,” Elias hisses down at him.

Peter’s hands pause. “What’s the matter, Elias? I thought you were a master of keeping your composure,” he teases, meeting his eyes. A challenge.

Elias stays silent, mouth in a displeased line. He is. Saying anything else would be admitting defeat. Peter grins in satisfaction and brings him in closer.

That confidence takes a blow as soon as Peter’s mouth finds his clit. His hips jump, despite himself, at the cold tongue. Elias’ face heats and he threads a hand into Peter’s hair to keep him from coming up to say anything. He can still feel Peter smile.

Elias slides down in his chair to give the man a better angle. Large hands hold his legs in place. It seems, at some point, he had committed. Peter works at him and Elias sighs quietly. He traces the man’s ear with his thumb.

Elias’ unfocused eyes almost don’t see the filing clerk walking by in time. He fits a fist over his mouth just as the clerk passes by his office, curiously glancing in through the open door. Elias stares back, trying to seem like he’s lost in thought. Halfway down in his chair.

Peter chooses that moment to suck at his clit and Elias’ back arches despite himself. He gasps around his fist. Twin ropes of fear and pleasure curl and lash within him. The clerk has already passed his office but Elias’ nerves are alight and his resolve threatens to crumble. He pushes at Peter until the man leans away.

Peter wipes his mouth and then leans on Elias’ knees, examining his work. Elias is heavily blushing now, still covering his mouth with his hand. Peter reaches up and tugs the arm down. All the better to see you with. Elias bites his lip and turns his head away from Peter’s gaze, embarrassed.

“Tapping out?” he asks. As if he’s bested him.

“You are a hazard,” Elias tells him, and wraps one leg around his back. Peter laughs and turns his head to kiss his knee. He works his way up Elias’ inner thigh, savouring every twitch he gets out of the man, until his mouth envelops Elias again.

Very soon it takes all Elias has to keep himself in the chair as Peter’s cold tongue works into him. His many eyes roll, not able to focus on anything, and he’s only faintly aware that, if someone were to decide to visit his office right now, they would be caught. It is… more than a little hard to care.

Of course, the Archivist is always the exception. An irritation nudges at him through his pleasure – Jon is on the stairs to his office. Fear drops in his stomach, then churns into something more heated. An image, unbidden, rises to his mind: the Archivist, walking into his office, seeing Elias trembling in his chair, seeing Elias –

Elias can’t stop a moan, too loud, from escaping his lips. He claps his hand over his mouth. Peter glances up at him, then redoubles his efforts.

Jon hadn’t ascended the second flight of steps to Elias’ office, instead turning off somewhere. He’s still in his thoughts, though; Jon standing above him, watching him come undone, Jon reaching –

He climaxes silently, muscles tensing, mouth open in a soundless yell.

When Elias sinks back into the chair, the absence of cold air tells him Peter is nowhere to be found. Perhaps he had regained control of his Lonely, but Elias doubts it. He isn’t in his fog and Elias allows himself a small victory at seeing his effect on the man, despite being the one a mess at his desk.

Peter has his fist wrapped around his cock, dry and angry and quick, and his jagged mind is similarly gripped by questions – why his Lonely doesn’t want Elias, why the head of the institute won’t see him anymore, why he’s the one fading.

And as he comes he arrives at his conclusion, and the sound that tears through him is more of a sob than a moan.

It is exquisite.

Elias has half a mind to reach down and make himself come again, but he doesn’t. He’s in his office. He stays in his chair a few minutes more, willing his muscles into action. Finally, he puts himself together enough to make his way to the washroom.

Elias carefully avoids thinking about either of them for the rest of the day. And the day after that.

* * *

Of course, he can’t avoid them forever.

The Overseer stands at the drop-off mouth of the tunnels, surveying the branches. They are remarkably clear of spiderwebs, and a golden light filters through the empty space. The Overseer watches.

The Archivist joins him. The two stand side by side.

The other speaks. “There’s something down there, isn’t there.” It’s a statement.

“There are many things down there.”

“Like what?”

“You’ve been exploring – you tell me.”

Jon blows out a breath. “Not spiders – or, not anymore. Not Sasha.” He frowns, and his heart aches through their skin. “Singing.”

Elias turns his head fractionally. “Singing?”

The Archivist keeps staring down into the gloom. “Sort of. It has a musical quality.”

“That sounds nice,” the Overseer says, almost wistfully. It is Jon’s turn to look at him.

“You… don’t hear it?”

Elias unfolds his arms, and the movement brushes their arms together. He hadn’t realized how close Jon is standing. “I don’t need to hear it to understand.”

And suddenly he does hear it. Faintly, buried beneath other memories, the tonal chords of a choir rise from beneath his feet. It’s beautiful. And Jon is staring at him and Elias can feel his own memories being tugged out of his skin, squirming – staring at the cracks in the ceiling, picking through Gertrude’s files, shaking in the janitor’s closet, looking at the Archivist through another pair of eyes –

Elias steps back from the trapdoor, facing Jon. He is calm. A piece of him is missing, he finds.

He finally concedes that it is safe with the Archivist.

Jon is still staring at him. There’s neither contempt nor revulsion in his eyes, like he doesn’t hold power, like he doesn’t hold Elias, and Elias falls a little in love with the lack of pity before he catches himself. And Jon catches something too but he just files it away; another rock in the landslide of new information.

“Oh,” Jon says, softly.

“Yes. To answer your earlier question,” Elias says, watching his racing mind. He is already attacking the information, the history the Archivist is finally supplying him. His eyes are far away, doubtless living through the Archivist’s own lives.

“Right.”

“I’ll let you think.” Elias moves away from the precipice. Behind him, Jon reaches out and Elias moves his hand to avoid Jon’s too late; Jon manages to brush his fingertips against his skin. Elias is gifted his own retreating back, a single staring eye at the base of his buzzed head.

* * *

“You fucking used me,” Peter spits, like an animal with its leg in a trap.

Elias stares blandly back at him. “I think you might have read too much into this.”

“I bet you say that to all the men you fuck,” the captain snarls.

A beat. The Overseer’s eyes land, heavy, on the captain’s shoulders. “Aren’t you a little too attached?” Elias asks, and sees the first real fear in Peter’s eyes.

He disappears easily, this time. Runs from the eyes.

It’s his mistake. The Lonely is a dangerous place to be for a bleeding heart.

* * *

The Overseer stares out of the window in his office, paperwork forgotten on his desk. At some point his hands had stilled and now are loath to move again. The men on the street bow their heads. They are thinking of their upcoming review, their results from the clinic, their spouse’s distance, still images of their bedroom on the television.

The Overseer can see all of it.

Everything is sharp and seen, and the Eye sees all.

The Slaughter’s madness courses through the concrete walls of a Khrushchyovka in northern Russia. A wolf rips into a lone hiker amidst the evergreens in Oregon. A sculpture in Ankara is unveiled, and the people around it break their necks trying to follow its curves. A fire decimates several rows of houses in Uttam Nagar and is still hungry.

The Tundra sits, docked and empty, at Blyth.

He does not allow himself guilt. Or anything, really.

Small movements down on the street catch its attention. Dark droplets scatter before its eyes as if before a strong wind, and the Overseer thinks it is itself – but it is as whole as it is, and the droplets keep rolling, running across the pavement.

The Overseer traces their paths back to the archives and sighs. Of course. It strides, quickly, to Jon’s office. He had grown tired of doing nothing, of being trapped within walls. The Archivist had opened his door.

Jon stands, leaking, in his office. Dark blotches swell and detach from his body as he scatters across the world, sampling everything but collecting nothing.

Elias stops in the frame, considering. There is so little of Jon in the room that he isn’t sure the man can hear anything, see anything which might bring him back. He closes the office door.

“What am I going to do with you, Jonathan?”

But Jon turns at his voice and moves towards Elias like a blind man with arms outstretched. Ink leaks like tears from his eyes, and if Elias could see around the darkness that fills the sockets, he is sure they would be staring through him and be heavy with the weight of the world.

Jon stumbles towards the Overseer. His approach is halted with one hand in the centre of his chest. Brief flashes of memory course through his arm, then stop – Elias had made this mistake too. Moving his legs would not lead Jon back to the institute. It was his mind that was gone.

Elias considers Jon and his options. Jon doesn’t consider anything, spread thin across the world as he is. The Overseer carefully reaches up and pushes the ink back into the man’s skin with his palm. He tries not to leak with it. Jon’s hands tighten in his shirt, perhaps in response. He tilts his head down.

Perhaps his only purpose is to ground Jon, Elias thinks as he kisses him.

Jon is immobile against him. Then, he responds to the existential shock of kissing one’s boss by pressing forward, requesting access, and Elias denies him. A piece of Jon slides back into place at the unexpected, yet familiar, shock of rejection. Elias’ tongue gets a brief impression of teeth, mouth, but instead of sharp edges they’re round, bulging. Eyes. The Archivist.

The Overseer refuses to whine, but Jon, not fully back in his body and bold still, takes advantage and shoves his tongue into his mouth, searching for a way back. Elias can feel him collect under his hands, black shards flowing backwards into the shape in front of him.

Jon drives his tongue into Elias’ bitten cheek and Elias hisses, pulls back. He shouldn’t have known that. And Elias catches himself, laughs a little. Of course he knew. He had just successfully walked the other plane.

And it’s true. Jon stands before him, whole, gripping his arms to keep himself upright. The Overseer allows him a minute to rest, to cease his shaking. But nothing more. When Jon finally starts to straighten, the Overseer nods at the Archivist. The door is opened again. Mind no longer able to register his legs, Jon collapses like a tree in a storm, branches stripping of its leaves.

The Overseer stands over him, watching. It would have done no good to let Jon go after bringing him back – he needs to learn his own way, to act, else he will be lost without Elias. Else he will start to overthink again. Might start to rely on their relationship. Might start to need it.

Minutes pass and Jon is still scattered. The Overseer stands over him, both guard and lookout. Finally, he sighs as it becomes evident the man is lost. But the Overseer can see him, circling the world, collecting his pieces one by one. He just needs to find the path back.

He tugs his pant legs up – he had already ruined two pairs of pants for Jon’s sake with worms and blood, no need to stretch another – and crouches in front of the man.

His Archivist’s eyes, hidden behind his long hair, stare down through the floor.

The Overseer calls to him. “Jon, you can hear me. The world is large but you need to control yourself. Curiosity is only useful with restraint. Restrain yourself, Jon. You can hear me. Find your way back.”

The Overseer didn’t think he’d have to take as drastic of measures this time, but he is almost at the point of reaching for the kneeling man when he sees Jon’s silhouette on the horizon. He keeps talking, keeping his voice even, as Jon struggles into himself. The Overseer rises to his feet. They wait for the remaining pieces to roll back into the archives. When it looks like most of Jon is once again within the walls, the Overseer lets out a breath and speaks.

“Good, Jon. I realize this must have taken a lot out of you, so you are welcome to take the rest of the day off.”

Jon stills, considering. He gets up off the floor, dusting off his pants as he does. He straightens, takes a deep breath, and meets Elias’ eyes.

“Again.”

“No—” says Elias in alarm, reaching for Jon; twice had already been too much, a third time in that plane was more than Jon could handle –

But the man had taken a step back and with his stare pinned the Overseer in place. The Archivist keeps him at bay and spears him with a look of distant determination through unfocused eyes as Jon fractures.

And then they’re not unfocused any longer. 

Like the blink of an eye, some sort of archivist collects under his skin. He finds his way back to look through his eyes, and he stares at Elias like the shore and hauls himself to the institute by the rope attached to the spear, arm by arm.

The Overseer stands speechless as the Archivist drags itself back to him.

His expression changes from distant determination to triumph, and Jon is back in the room. He blinks and Elias is released. Still their eyes hold, until someone’s mouth twitches upwards first and they’re both smiling. Jon laughs, relieved and triumphant, and takes several steps back to slide down to the ground against his desk. He leans his head on the desk, smiling, and Elias allows himself a second to just exist, happy together, before he leaves the archives.

* * *

There’s a whiff of salt, but Elias walks through it unheeding. He paces the hallways.

Peter appears in front of him, leaning against the hallway, hands in his pockets. “I know what you’re doing.”

Elias doesn’t even look at him as he passes.

Two more turns and Peter’s back. He stands in the middle of the hallway now. “Elias.”

Elias keeps walking forward. In Peter’s eyes grows alarm and he disperses like smoke as Elias walks through him, calling his bluff.

He doesn’t materialize in Elias’ path again. Instead, he tries once more, appearing in the doorway beside him. “Elias. Look at me.”

And Elias does, but only with two eyes, only the lightest touch of attention. Peter can see he isn’t seeing him. Elias considers him mildly, then says, “Still here?”

Peter pales, already miles away. He wavers in the fluorescent light. Just as mildly, Elias says, “Face it, Peter. You never mattered.”

The captain’s distant voice. “You’re lying.”

Elias spares him a look of pity. “You know better than me that I’m not.”

And the Overseer leaves him. He doesn’t look back. He doesn’t look at Peter ever again.

The Overseer doesn’t think about Peter, and it’s easier than it should be.

* * *

Forever Blind is coiling into itself like muscles tensing before an attack. More and more of its tendrils are being cast out and drawn in, and the Overseer is sure that cultists scurry beneath them.

The Overseer suspects Forsaken will not help the institute. Their alliance had only extended through Peter Lukas, and he is sure they blame him for his disappearance. It wasn’t a murder, technically. They all know better.

The Overseer knows better than to rely on the Web for help, even if it does seem like it has established a pattern. It seems like a pattern, but they all know better. He is reasonably certain it had turned Forever Blind against the institute.

The Overseer stands at the window and creates a void of information around Basira, travelling away from the city once more. She has been getting proficient with the earth.

He would have to rely on her, and Helen, and Daisy. And Jon.

Behind him the Archivist steps into his office. He keeps his door open now. No reason or way to hide. The Overseer pivots its eyes to look at Jon.

“Are you doing anything?” Jon’s restlessness manifests as irritation under his skin. The Overseer blinks at him, silent.

“Anything at all? About any of this?” The Archivist strides into the office, still stopping at the large desk. Old habits. The Overseer looks out the window and tries to remember when it had acted last. It excises a vein and the Archivist sinks into it, seeing Basira travelling across the countryside.

The Archivist’s rage spikes, and the Overseer finally turns, interested. He examines at the man and is surprised to see that he’s almost heartbroken.

“So you can devote your, what, entire time to looking after Basira, but couldn’t spare Martin one second? He’s gone, Elias!”

At his name, Elias folds into his office. “Martin is an adult, capable of making his own decisions. I do not babysit my employees, Jon.”

“Bullshit,” spits Jon. “Your Peter Lukas took him and won’t let him go! I haven’t seen – I can’t see him at all now!”

Elias stays as silent as the Tundra.

“Please, Elias.” Elias wonders if Jon needs to beg, anymore. He thinks Jon might be able to just reach into him, now. Wonders if Jon wants to.

Elias’ mouth twists with his words. “I’m afraid the Lonely has rather… gone rogue. Whatever he had Martin doing, it may have taken him too.”

A shaky breath escapes Jon’s lips. His hands clench.

“God, if I ever see Peter Lukas—”

“You’ll what, Jon? You’ll kill him? Hurt him? You’ll have to do better than that.”

“You don’t know—" Jon starts, but the Overseer is already pushing the knowledge into his head, crossing the room. Elias practically handing Martin over on a silver platter. Peter disappearing, trapping Martin in his Lonely. Inheritance.

“Peter Lukas is no longer with us. You’ll have to hurt me.”

An exchange. Elias shows Jon what he has done, and Jon will show Elias what he will do. 

“Hurt me, Jon.” Elias grips him by his arms, searching his face. The Overseer doesn’t leak into him, nor does the Archivist. The push-pull has settled into even ground, even footing.

Jon’s fury clashes with an unsettled dawning – he doesn’t want to. The anger peaks, then subsides. He shakes his head. Elias exhales, letting him go.

“No, I suppose not,” Elias says disappointedly. Jon is still weak. And still connected to the people around him. “I’ve taken everything from you. You should know better.”

Jon just stands, staring at the ground. Elias sighs.

“Martin is still here. However faint, I can see him. But, his fog will take considerable power to get through.” He looks, not slyly, at Jon. He has no need for games with him. He says it plainly. “The Eye will help, if you help it in return.”

“Fuck you,” Jon says back, just as plainly. And he says nothing more because he can hear the truth ingrained within the words.

Jon leaves the office to ponder, Elias hopes. Maybe he has learned to think things through. He has learned too late, if so. There are two conclusions in this scenario – and only one outcome that Jon will tolerate. Jon will not allow his friends to be hurt.

In any case, the Archivist will walk with purpose now. He had always been more comfortable when he had a goal in sight.

The Overseer turns back to the window. In the countryside, a metal pipe floats to the surface and a young girl cheers. Basira smiles.

* * *

The Overseer stares out the window into the night. The darkness takes shape in his mind, clay molding to reveal people within shadows, watching and plotting.

He had lasted a week before he took to night-time circuits of the institute. Logically, it wouldn’t help any – he can accomplish the same from his office - but the suspense had gotten to him so he, too, stalks the halls, avoiding Daisy, doing the same.

Jon had waited for him to leave his office. Nice of him to learn manners. The Archivist sits down on the inset ledge in the hallway beside the window.

“Do you not sleep?”

Elias keeps looking out the window. “No.” He glances sidelong at Jon, almost invisible in the purple night. “Bad dreams?”

Jon makes a noncommittal sound. “Oh, you know. I listened to your tape. Of you getting arrested. You, uh, have a way with words,” he says, almost with a laugh.

Elias looks back at the night. “You have a very active imagination.” Jon makes a face in the darkness and Elias smiles. “I will admit,” he says, “I am glad that you chose the institute over the pictures in your head.”

“More like over my own head,” Jon grumbles, crossing his arms.

The Overseer finally asks the question that has been buzzing in his head for months.

“What was behind that yellow door?”

“Hm? Oh, I – I didn’t open it,” Jon confesses. “I don’t know.”

Elias turns from the window. Jon’s eyes shine out from the darkness of the hall. “How did you leave your dreams?”

Jon’s eyes glint in the darkness. “What you said – you were close.” He clearly relishes Elias’ attentive silence. “I found the Archivist. The Eye was waiting for me to become whole.”

Elias nods, once.

“Do you get tired?” Jon asks, eyes wandering his profile.

“With you as the archivist? Is that a rhetorical question?”

Jon just groans and shifts on the ledge, making room. He probably knew Elias’ feet had been tiring, so Elias takes the offer.

They sit, side by side. Elias enjoys the cool wall against his head. At his side, Jon is tensed, collecting, thinking. Planning. Elias is still, waiting until Jon makes up his mind, waits just until the very second Jon begins to turn –

“Whatever it is you’re thinking of doing, don’t.”

Jon jumps, on edge as he is. Still, he remains half-turned to Elias, considering.

“I know these are desperate times, Jon, but are you really not above fucking your boss?” Elias rolls his head against the wall to smirk at Jon.

“I wasn’t going t—” Jon starts, indignantly, before sighing and slumping against the wall. “God. You are insufferable.”

Elias blows out a breath, amused. “A famous philosopher once posited the question – is it worse to be insufferable, or to be into it?”

Jon turns his face away. “Be quiet. I’m not talking to you.” They sit in silence for a while before Jon yawns. “Wake me up if I start to fall asleep, will you?”

“You need your strength.”

“I’ve dreamed enough.”

So they sit the rest of the night in that alcove, and the Overseer breathes a sigh of relief to see he is absent from his thoughts. And when the Archivist grows distant Elias does nothing, lets the Archivist walk his familiar terrors and numb more and more with every step.

* * *

Obviously, Jon doesn’t leave it alone. The night is heavy and expectant when he finds Elias.

The Overseer is once again sitting in the alcove beside the window, letting his gaze drift. He’s aware that the Archivist is approaching, of course, and aware of the hum of energy that accompanies him, but he can’t quite tear his eyes away from the outside brickwork.

Besides, he is curious to see what Jon will do.

So, Elias doesn’t move from his seat as Jon walks down the hallway, strides purposeful and face set. He looks like he’s going into battle.

Admittedly, it is a little bit of a surprise when the man fits himself on Elias’ lap.

Elias starts, comes back to the institute, to the hallway, and Jon’s weight is on his lap and hands on his belt. “Jon, what—”

“Shut up. You know full well what I’m doing,” Jon retorts, scowling at the blush that has already dusted his cheeks. He won’t let himself feel self-conscious, though, and Elias can feel through his skin his stress, his anticipation, desperation, even.

“Yes, but I’d rather hear you say it.”

He doesn’t. Jon stays silent and works at Elias’ belt. But once it’s open and Elias hasn’t made any move to help, Jon falters, unsure, and regret slowly starts making its well-worn paces in his head. In a minute, the desperation with turn into anger, and then Elias will have to deal with a hurt archivist.

Elias rests his hands on the man’s thighs. He taps his fingers, thinking, and Jon settles a little more easily at the casual touch.

He doesn’t want to encourage – well, whatever this is. Jon doesn’t actually have any sort of clear idea or plan in his mind, besides the want for relief or escape. And while Elias sympathises, bolstering their relationship is the most dangerous thing he can do at this stage. But on the other hand, he doesn’t want to outright reject Jon. It’s good for his ego.

To fill the dead space, Elias talks.

“I suppose I should be flattered?”

“Don’t be,” Jon says flatly. “It’s not good for you.” Elias’ hands are now on top of his legs, suggesting him to stay. It would be better to let him go, to encourage no loyalty to the Overseer – but Elias’ hands rest on top of his legs.

Elias hums, trailing his gaze across the body in front of him. “Don’t worry about me. The honour of having the Archivist on top of me is slightly dampened by the fact that I’m your – what, second? Third choice?” His eyes alight on the spear-wounds the Distortion’s fingers had made in Jon’s shoulder. “I never liked the Distortion.”

Jon speaks around his exasperated embarrassment. “Yes, you made that quite clear.”

“Just for you. You were always so obtuse.” Elias’ hand drifts up to the man’s shoulder, almost on its own. Jon jumps when he experimentally digs his finger into the fabric, into the scar.

“Well, your hair looks stupid.”

“You can’t even articulate to yourself why you’re in my lap.”

“W – that could be for any number of reasons.”

Elias smiles, and he must project some of the fondness in his mind because the man relaxes some more in spite of the fingers digging into his skin. Michael’s wounds are too far apart for Elias to cover, and in any case it isn’t the Distortion whom Jon needs help with. He drifts his hand up to lay light fingers on the man’s jaw: too sharp to cradle, too light to hold. Elias sees rather than feels the fine hairs stand on end. Jon holds himself artificially still, fighting not to lean into the barely-there touch.

“Well, I won’t fuck you,” Elias says, breaking the silence, “but I’m sure that won’t be a problem for you. There is, however, something I believe I can help you with.” He ghosts his hand over the scars on the man’s cheek, and finds Jon agreeable.

They are so close together, dead bodies not heating the air between them, that if the Archivist were to reach out –

Elias squashes those thoughts. He isn’t sure he can afford to get carried away, this close to –

Elias squashes those thoughts again. He turns mindless, and digs his fingers into the pockmarks on Jon’s cheek. Silver scars disappear underneath the white crescents his nails leave in the Archivist’s skin, matching the whites of the eyes surrounding them.

Jon winces but doesn’t twist away. He still looks uncertain, avoiding Elias’ gaze, not knowing how to react or what to do with his hands. Sighing, Elias collects his wrists with his other hand, trying to give him some stability.

“The paperwork I had to go through to clean those up…” Elias says, lips twisting at the memory.

Jon scoffs as best he can around the pain and the hand holding his jaw.

“You know, I pulled these worms out of you,” Elias muses, letting Jon go, and drifts his hand down, down, until it rests on Jon’s calf; he lowest he can reach. “I can map out exactly where their mouths had been. Here,” he says, and presses into the meat of the leg. A knot of ill-healed flesh meets his fingertip through the fabric. “Here. Here.”

He walks his hand up Jon’s leg, pressing through the fabric, mapping out the scars he had helped create. Jon watches him and Elias stares back, glad to see no emotion on the Archivist’s face besides a vague interest, a hint of impatience.

Elias works his way up his thigh, past where he had been interrupted by the paramedics, shaking Jon’s reserved expression into something more heated. Neither of them mention how Elias knows where the scars are.

“You just said their mouths had been there,” he says, almost accusingly, sullenly, and Elias laughs, delighted.

“I did,” he concedes. “Maybe once this is all over, we can see if you can stand me for more than five minutes.”

“Don’t count on it,” Jon grumbles, but a blush creeps over his cheeks at the idea. Elias follows his thoughts and is delighted, once again, at Jon’s idea of a night together.

It’s so… sweet.

“Adorable,” Elias purrs, and Jon breaks his grip on his wrists to shove at his chest. He laughs, quietly, and works his hands under Jon’s shirt, pressing on the notches like a musical instrument. And Jon muffles the sounds that threaten to escape him.

The Stranger’s incisions had long since faded, shallow as they were, but the glimmering lines are still visible to the Eye, wrapping around its Archivist. Elias runs his hands along the lines, massaging into the skin, and he begins to lose his detachment. And if he ghosts over the man’s nipple just to hear him sigh, well, Jon doesn’t seem to mind much. He brings the man closer, hands tracing his back and he considers opening him up and wearing his skin, seeing echoes of the ringmaster’s plans, and Jon melts against him, pressing their chests together. Like merging.

Archivist.

Elias pulls back. Puts some distance between them again. The experiences threading over Jon’s skin are potent, and already Elias is close to losing himself in them. If Jon sees the alarm on his features he doesn’t mention it. He’s realized what Elias is doing, must have, because he brings his right, burned, mangled hand to the Overseer’s face. It rests on his cheek, warped thumb on his lips, and Elias can feel the fire running through it. He opens his mouth, and the Archivist’s features catch fire.

The pad burns on his tongue.

Elias sucks, looking up at Jon through his eyelashes, and Jon inhales sharply.

“Christ, Elias,” Jon breathes. The Archivist shifts forward, intent, all its eyes on the Overseer, and fire travels down Elias’ throat and smolders between his legs.

He pushes the digit further in and Elias offers no resistance. The Archivist fucks into his mouth, pushing into the muscle, working his jaw, and Elias lets him, hands tightening at his hips in response. Finally, the Archivist finishes, and it allows Elias to take the wrist, pull the finger out of his mouth slowly, slowly, letting it linger against his bottom lip for too long.

He kisses the tip of the thumb, kisses the warped palm. It’s his, now, and this more than anything makes Jon blush harder. He turns the hand over and kisses the back too, old-fashioned. But the fire is jumping and ruinous, and the crescent on Jon’s throat has been leering for far too long.

Jon jumps at the hands on his throat and something like a muffled whine sounds in his chest. They both stop, surprised, before Elias smiles, sharp, and Jon groans at the expression. His throat vibrates under Elias’ hands.

“Everything you imagined?” he asks, grinning, and Jon has the nerve to roll his eyes with hands around his neck. Elias thinks about how he could make Jon’s eyes really roll and Jon’s breath hitches, quickly glancing down to Elias.

Elias just smirks and applies pressure. Jon’s hands shoot up reflexively to grip his wrists, but he doesn’t try to pull them away. He is very still. A deer in the headlights again.

“Good,” he says, low and appreciative, and bares his teeth at the shiver that works itself down Jon’s spine. He’s a hunter, now, seeking out the softest parts of him to sink his teeth into.

The old wound opens reluctantly under his fingernails, but he keeps at it until there’s a trickle of blood flowing from the skin. He leans closer, following the scent. “Archivist,” he breathes at Jon’s already parted lips, getting an “Elias,” in return, but it’s not what he’s looking for so he goes searching for more wounds on his Archivist to claim them one by one.

He finds the last one in the softness in the Archivist’s chest. Underneath his shirt, Elias’ hands alight on the indentation in the Archivist’s chest. He presses down and Jon squirms, no pain where there should be pain, uncomfortable at the absence of protective bone, and the flesh sings under his touch.

He presses into Jon’s mind, too, mirroring what he sees, tinted with his own thoughts – how pretty Jon is on his lap, desperation a good look on him but sureness more so, wanting and flushed – how pretty he looks, framed by the light from the window and the dozen eyes set in his skin.

In return, Elias receives shame – nights spent alone in quiet self-loathing as, behind his eyelids, Martin’s face turns angular and is replaced. Elias’ hungry gaze matching the one before him now, but in a dozen different positions, some above, some below.

Elias grins at Jon and Jon manages to hold his gaze for a second, then looks away. He circles the hollow of the missing rib, an unpleasant softness beneath his hands. Elias can feel the flesh sing, vibrations travelling through the body, waves away from his hands. He wants to reach in, feel the cavity, but flesh doesn’t part for him.

But suddenly the body in front of him is alive and beautiful and Elias is caught in the Flesh’s call so he cups the back of the man’s neck and brings him close. He can’t resist pressing his lips to the bleeding throat. Jon suppresses a sound and fists his hands in Elias’ shirt.

A sound which Elias would really like to hear.

He tongues at the wound, tearing it open again, and Jon shifts desperately on Elias’ lap. They both pretend it’s from the pain. Elias doesn’t let up, drifts his hand across his skin until Jon finally moans, long and low.

And a quiet thought nags at him, like how the Archivist is staying quiet. And the boundaries are blurred enough that he chases it. Thinks about eyes bubbling beneath the skin in front of him, and he gasps around the Archivist’s throat. Thinks about it reaching for him –

The Overseer wavers beneath the Archivist. It _wants_. So much so that it splays its fingers on dark skin and removes the physical boundaries surrounding it, presses into the body above him and intertwines –

The eyes undermeath his hands open, and the Archivist speaks like a god. Restrain yourself. And its eyes shove him back into the space beneath the Archivist.

Elias blinks back into space and Jon is looking worriedly at him. Concern wafts from his mind – he wanted to see Elias undone, but he had felt the danger too. Elias exhales heavily and tries to steady himself. Tries to shake the echo of a slammed door from his mind once again.

“That’s about as much as I can do in a… professional capacity,” he says, ignoring their fast breathing, fingers catching and thrumming with potential.

“You’re kidding me,” comes the flat response. “I can literally see how badly you want it.”

Elias can’t really deny that. “It would just be… a bad idea.” His eyes take on a sharp edge. “You could take this up with Martin - I’m sure he would love to help you out. You’ll have to ask me where he is, though.”

“Fuck off.”

“Hm,” says Elias, and skims a hand over the man’s pants. Jon presses his lips together but still rocks, slightly, into Elias’ palm.

Elias smirks up at him and Jon remembers himself. He scowls, and Elias withdraws. “Then I’m afraid you’ll have to do the rest yourself. Go on.”

“But – you’ll be watching, though!” Jon exclaims, indignant.

Elias shrugs nonchalantly. “I might.”

“So what’s it fucking matter,” grumbles Jon, but gets up from Elias’ lap nonetheless, past hiding the tent in his pants. He slinks off to the bathroom and curses as he gets himself off. He goes over the edge wonderfully quickly once he feels Elias’ eyes on him, but he doesn’t let Elias’ name pass his lips.

And Elias buckles his belt and lets the heat fade. He knows Jon is watching.

The days get shorter.

* * *

The early hours of the night are interrupted by gunshots. Darkness pours into the institute.

The morning light doesn’t reach them.

The muzzle flash of her gun illuminates Daisy’s face, stark fear frozen across her brow. Fear of the Dark or fear of the Hunt, Elias no longer cares, just tells her where to shoot next.

Basira chants an offering and a group of five cultists are swallowed by the brickwork outside the institute. Elias tells her that another wave is approaching but she ignores him, instead running to get Melanie.

Jon backs away from the window and starts to run.

The Overseer, after driving ten cultists mad with knowledge, starts to run too. There are, of course, too many of them.

The two entities meet at the Old History section.

“This way!” hisses the Overseer and runs past the Archivist, already turning to the archives, unsurprised.

He doesn’t risk disturbing the Buried further so he fumbles at the trapdoor with the keys. While he waits, Jon examines the Overseer for its plan.

“Do you have the key?” asks the Overseer, wrenching the padlock open.

“What key?” asks Jon, but he does, it’s been hanging on his beltloop ever since he took it. The Overseer nods and throws open the door.

The tunnels are free of cobwebs. And Elias is a little afraid for Jon, a little afraid of what comes after.

As they race through the tunnels, something dark once again at his heels, Elias checks off the entities like a drumbeat. Flesh. Filth. De-so-la-tion. Vast. Slaughter. Web. They’re bleeding into one another, orbits colliding, and Jon stops in the tunnels, catching the Overseer’s wrist as it runs past him.

“Wait,” he says, breathless. “The Lonely. Martin. He’s still lost—”

“Don’t worry about that. We have to get to the door.”

“What door? Elias,” Jon pleads, but he already knows about it, knows what pulses behind it, waiting for him. Them. Jon isn’t pleading for knowledge.

He’s pleading for Elias.

“Keep moving,” the Overseer hisses, glancing back down the tunnel. He tugs the Archivist forward once again.

Hunt. Spiral. Stranger. Dark –

Jon gasps, just slightly behind him. “The Dark. I haven’t even seen them—”

Elias chuckles as best he can. “I think the Archivist has more than enough scars from them,” he says, and keeps running.

“Elias—”

They turn a corner and all at once the tunnel is bathed in light, turning the sandy walls into gold. The Overseer comes to a stop, breathing hard. Behind him, Jon catches his breath, hands on his knees.

It isn’t the glorious ascension Elias had envisioned. It’s urgent and smothered in fear. He isn’t put together and neither is Jonathan, both staring at one another, panting and panicked. No trumpets, no choirs, no time for grand speeches. Just the two of them in the basement of the institute. It’s all that is needed, but Elias still aches with guilt. It deserves more. He pushes it aside. His god is powerful – it will break Jon free of the floor and the Eye will, at last, catch the Archivist.

“Even if you’re right,” Jon pants, bringing Elias back to the tunnels, “I can’t give it the Lonely. I didn’t save Martin, I don’t know what it means to be eaten—”

“No,” Elias agrees, looking down the hallway at the door. “That isn’t your role.” He glances back at the Archivist. “You’ll have to use me.”

Jon stares up at him. “What?” And the Overseer tells him. Tells him all, gives him his plans and his maps, and Jon just stares at him.

“Elias, you’ll—”

“I have more than enough experience with Forsaken. I think,” Elias pauses and, incredulous and hopeful, barks a laugh. “I think this will work.”

But Jon is still staring at him in horror, and Elias’ lightness is dampened by a creeping dread. No. Jon wouldn’t.

The Overseer stares back. No. He won’t let him.

He presses Basira’s fear into the Archivist’s mind. Melanie’s despair. Martin’s apprehension at the encroaching darkness upon his field of neverending twilight. Daisy’s desperation, her pain at the gun kicking in her hands. He listens to Jon’s sharp intake of breath.

“Everyone will be cared for under the Ceaseless Watcher. Held in its Eye.” He extends his hand. “Use me.”

Jon hesitates. Gives him one last chance.

“This will kill you.”

“I…” he begins, but doesn’t finish it. What can he say that they don’t already know? He pushes it aside. It doesn’t matter. “They’ll be safe.” He exhales. “Jon.”

The golden light pulses, so close. He is being blinded by the chorus he can hear now.

Overtop the hymn runs a hesitancy, words. “You – I – it does matter.” And his hand is taken. The Overseer collides into the Archivist supernova, flinging celestial bodies into oblivion. Elias is picked clean and cast aside. The morning light doesn’t reach him. The door unlocks beneath its hands.

As the Eye clambers into their reality once more and begins to lift the brickwork, the light of dawn and god burns away the darkness painting the Archivist’s body and reveals it golden.

The Archivist stands, holy, before all knowledge, and It

Is

Whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I'm pretty sure there’s something under the institute and I’ll be damned if I let elias see it
> 
> tried lots of new things in this fic. hopefully some of it worked for you. if you made it this far I respect you (or not respect you? raise yr standards) enough to ask for your opinion on my next unrelated [project](https://tentative-explanation.tumblr.com/) PLEASE thank you so much mwah  
> or as always find me on [tumblr](https://laymanterms.tumblr.com/)
> 
> very excited to never think about this guy again. im sick of this dude
> 
> be seeing you )


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